I'm a result, an effect. There have been so many causes to lead me to where I am, but still I feel inadequate and ill-equipped. So what do I do with these incomplete leanings? Where do I go? How do I move on? I don't know why I try to be something more when my boat is anchored to the shore. How can I expect anything more here?
I want to write a story, or maybe to be one (to be in one). I'm not sure. I want to make a difference, but it's so hard when everything is the same. I need to move my feet and not be afraid where I'll land. I don't know why I try. I don't know what for or why. Maybe some day words will align and mean more than jumbled ransom notes of words again. Maybe I'll find my voice again instead of just filling empty space. I have found something, a light, a flicker, a passion, in academia, but I want a little more, or rather a little something different. I want something with life, imagination, and creativity, not dry, clinical research.
Creatures, unfamiliar features, narratives, and plot lines. I want characters with character and places with history. I want to leave this nonsense behind to explore the rationale behind the nonsensical. Maybe this can be a month of exploration. Maybe the effect here can become something beyond the mundane for a change. Maybe something will happen if I work at it. Maybe I'll actually work at it and not beat myself down with familiar meta narratives or numbing half-truths. Maybe.
