I guess it’s never more timely than to resolve to do things than the present, regardless of the actual date. January’s almost over and I’m deciding to be better. There are a lot of things this task requires but mainly the first order of business is falling back in love with writing. We’re like old lovers and now everything is awkward and fumbled. To many scribbles on paper and I backspace long rambles about the things that really matter because I’m too worried about being judged on my words and how infantile they seem to me in comparison of what I was once capable of. I’m putting my nose to the grindstone. I’m tired of making promises to other people that only mean something to myself. I’m tired of indulging the selfish whims of strangers. This is my selfishness. I want to move mountains with my words and realistically speaking the odds are never in my favor. I’d like to be truly good at this before I keel over and die. It’s all I ever really wanted in my entire life. More than anything else, more than love (which, really, is an overrated comoddity that is closely linked to your willingness to learn to be happy), and more than anything. Really. I’m reading more and writing more and I’m filtering out the things and people that don’t matter in my life. This is my new rule: if you want to be important to me, then we’d better be important to each other because these hands are small and tired and I cannot keep trying to scoop bucketfuls of seawater out of a sinking boat.
