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Morning fears

by Lauren McCabe on July 30, 2013

View From Above

It has been a while since I’ve written. A couple of weeks since I have strung together sentences so they fit just right, snug interlocking pieces of a bridge snapping together.

This makes is ten times harder to write this post. This makes me one thousand times more likely not to write this post.

  • It’s 5:30 AM and I’m tired, I’m soft, I’m bleary; my mind is clean from yesterday’s residue but hazy with the fog of dawn.
  • The page in front of me is a drunk Christmas party, green and red squiggly lines everywhere because my grammar falters without constant, consistent practice.
  • I’m writing this in bullet points, proof that I have been writing power point decks instead of paragraphs these last few weeks.

I sometimes fear that the talents I have formed from careful years of practice will disappear from reckless years of neglect.

At my worst, I unearth pieces I wrote two years ago, five years ago, ten years ago and read them until I have to go to work.

Maybe I’ll check my email instead of writing.

Peer at the earth and watch the sun in the clouds; you’re on an airplane with no Wi-Fi.

Maybe I’ll tweet.

Airplane mode for that iPhone, too.

I’ll read the stories I wrote when I was 17, when I was much more talented.

Write stories like you did when you were 17, with pen and paper and a deep physical connection to your writing.

I’m going to brew tea. I’m so good at it.

No one achieved greatness by drinking tea alone at 5:45 AM.

It’s too hot. 

Sweat your words out on paper.

Maybe I’ll just reread what I just wrote. Ugg, it sucks.

Rake through the muck to find the jewels. Remember?

You’re the annoying part of myself.

I’m the part of yourself that proves that you have everything you need to begin.

So I talk to myself deliriously at 5:45 AM, waging war against the me that can’t write a sentence without it hurting.

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