A Sink Full of Words

I’ve never held humanity in high regard, but the recent online discourse surrounding the Learjet crash makes me want to quit the internet altogether. The last thing I want to do is start writing about current events, so I’ll pretty much just leave it at this: y’all fucking disgust me. Moving on. I hate feeling obligated to write every day. It obviously doesn’t matter, but I set these arbitrary rules for myself and then get annoyed when I break them. It’s why I’ve never been good about keeping up with a journal. I’ve stood in front of a sink full of hot water and dunked nearly full journals, watching all the colors swirl from the pages. Expensive fountain pen ink, and hours of my time, reduced to a purple puddle, leaving my hands stained for days. I simply decided the words no longer deserved existence. The stress of keeping up with it finally becoming too much. I suppose this makes the process a bit easier, if just a little less dramatic. It’s okay to have nothing to say.

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