In adequate company

100 words a day? Easy. That’s barely even writing. That’s a caption. A text message. A cry for help with requisite character count.

But make it positive?

Oh. There it is.

Writer’s block, like one cut from literal lumber and slung at my cranium with enough force that I briefly forget on impact what language is for in the first place.

Funny how one little adjective can turn a harmless little writing exercise into a hostage situation.

You know, though, I am beginning to detect a pattern.

King James said to me tonight: “Don’t beat yourself up and neglect your own life. Pleaseeeeeee” to which I responded: “But those are my favorite toxic traits 🥺😂”

Which is funny until it isn’t. Because apparently I like the damage best when I get to call it mine. I don’t know how to stop reaching for the knife as long as I’m the one holding it.

And, hour or so later, an author asks me: “The tricks you learn to mitigate self-sabotage. Amirite?” to which I reply: “I mean idfk if you are right. I have no such tricks. I simply suffice with the self sabotage 😋”

We strive for sufficiency. Good enough is the best we got. Good enough is a ceiling. Good enough is what you say when you are too tired to admit you ever wanted more.

But the core principle? It is cleaner if you have no one to blame but yourself. It is cleanest to have no one else at all.

And yet… here I am, getting my hands dirty again as if I like it. And I guess somewhere deep down I must. Clean velvet gloves hide dirty steel hands, and mine are dirtier and steelier than most.

Scientific fact for you: Humans are 18.5% carbon and 81.5% contradiction.