Think. Thank. Thunk. Sunk…

Took a trip the other day. But they were long closed by the time we arrived and so now I have another week to mull it over. Another week to torture myself. Because as comfortable as I am in making decisions, I’m never comfortable until the decision is made. And I’m as fickle as they get so until its set in stone, it’s just an idea. A possibility. And so here I am again. Wondering. Thinking. Sinking.

Because it’s a hobby. Not a profession. Something I do when I feel like it. When the world feels like too much and I retreat into the shell of my own mind. And I always figured that lawyers hate law, accountants hate money, and hookers hate sex, so there really is no point in ruining a perfectly enjoyable thing by picking it up to do for a living. Plus I’ve never felt that it was something I could be proud of. Nothing I write ever feels good enough anyway. I take forever to edit, and the end product hardly change lives or make a difference.

It hardly matters.

And I want it to matter. Because there’s no point in doing something if it doesn’t matter.

So much for Faith and Resilience. Yes, I. Am. So Fucked.

“Choices are the hinges of destiny.”
Edwin Markham.

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