I don’t write much here anymore. I want to. I always want to. There are always ideas running through my head, tagged as “this will eventually be a blog post” and “I really ought to expand on that idea, there’s a lot I could say about it.”
And I’m not here writing because real life has been fucking overwhelming. I still don’t have a place to live, I’m no closer than I have been (if anything, I’m further away from that goal) and I’m almost always stressed out and too tense and it’s just… GAHHHHHHH!!! so much of the time.
And I don’t write because I can’t breathe and I don’t write because I can’t give enough of a fuck to uncurl from fetal and do anything at all, and I don’t write because it’s fucking exhausting and I don’t have the energy to even take care of basic hygiene.
There is so much of me that I want to get out, to do something with, to share with the world. And until I have a safe, stable, long-term place to live, that won’t happen. And I don’t know how to make that happen. It scares the fuck out of me, that I have no clue how I’m going to figure out a place to live. To suspect/know that it will take someone else making things happen, and hating to know that it will never be on my own that I make anything important happen.
And then I have a whole other paragraph to write but as soon as I start I realize I’m too angry to keep going, and that’s often the point where the entire post goes into the trash.
So I’m hitting “publish” with no proofreading, because I want to write. Need to write. And fuck it, here it is.