Do you tell yourself you can’t do something? What is it and why?
I can’t get out of my own head. I’m firmly in it right now, and I’m not even planning on sharing this with anyone. I probably won’t even open it up again after tonight. But, I’m thinking about who might read it, what they might think, what I’ll think when these start popping back up in the memories app in Facebook. That’s produced a whole new fear – the Facebook memories thing. I didn’t even think about that when I started posting things back in August. Now, I’m pretty sure I am feeling like I should stop. Yep, definitely should stop.
I stay in my head so much that I post and “hide.” I turn the ringer off my phone and put it on the charger. After I post the piece that goes with this one tonight, I won’t look at social media again until I have breakfast in the morning. I’ll think about it though. I’ll wonder if anyone has given it any “love.” I’m shaking my head. It is so difficult to see my weirdness being typed out in front of me. It’s hard to hide your weirdness when it is staring back at you.
As I’m typing, I am wondering if I’ve said something poetically. I then wonder that if I did, was it really poetic and do I even know how to judge good poetry? And there you go, I’ve used three different versions of the word poem – four now. I am a strange bird, I know.
The music is not working as well tonight. It is a new group, and it is good, but my brain is trying to listen, laugh, have an internal dialogue, command my fingers to type, and keep the rest of me alive. I’m going to be tired after this essay tonight. Now, I’m wondering if I should have timed this. For most of these essays, I get to a stopping point, and then I think to myself, should I stop here? Have I typed enough? How long did that take? Genius writing should take a while to do. Of course, who am I to say anything that I’ve written is of genius quality. I should have written about the fact that I can’t drive a manual car. I can do it intellectually, but I’m definitely in my head when I do it in a real car. There’s no way that my racing thoughts are going to let up enough for my brain to be able to tell my feet to go up with one and down with the other at the exact right time. Plus, I have to listen to the car’s engine. And there you, go a mini essay in a whatever-I’m-calling-this-piece-of-writing. Tons of hyphens there.
Should I keep this going or put myself out of my misery? Part of me wants to summarize it, post it, and get on with the rest of the evening. The other part is having fun making fun of myself. It’s getting worse. I really should stop it. But, if I do, will I leave something out that someone needed to hear. Not that anyone is actually reading these. And there’s another can’t. I can’t write anything worth anyone’s time to read. Don’t get me started on my first book or the second one which seems to be going down in a burst of flames. I so wanted to work cow patties into that last sentence, but my brain wouldn’t form the thoughts before my fingers got to the letters.
That’s it. That’s all.