Sometimes I have the audacity to go back and read some of my old blog posts. I’m instantly reminded of how much I suck as a writer – a realisation so quick and so brutal it’s akin to being punched in the gut.
Now, I’ve never been punched in the gut, but the experience never seems pleasant in the movies.
I then quickly try and reassure myself saying that’s okay, no one reads this blog anyway. Your mediocrity is going completely unnoticed!
The beauty of having your own blog is that you’re the queen of the land. You make the rules, you break the rules, the rules don’t make sense. For instance, I have no idea where I’m going with this little story. If you’ve made it this far you’ve probably noticed this piece is all over the place. It’s called art, by the way. Stream of consciousness.
Someday I’m going to look back at the things I’ve written here and feel proud of that person. Or I’ll just want to hug her and be her friend. Maybe I’ll cringe and wish I’d never written anything. Like when I look back at pictures of some of my old style choices and try really hard to understand the stranger looking back at me, so delusional, believing she’s rocking it. She didn’t know anything then.
I don’t know anything now.
Will I ever learn anything?
I know I should always wear a face mask. And sunscreen.
I know time is a construct.
Two is better than one.
Happiness is only real when shared.
I know I shouldn’t be scared of what I don’t already know.
I know it’s okay to make mistakes and be a little awkward.
“It’s impossible to go through life unscathed. Nor should you want to. By the hurts we accumulate, we measure both our follies and our accomplishments.” ―
Not even the queen has all the answers, after all. Don’t be so hard on yourself.
On a different note, how is it already August?? Good thing time is a construct.
That much I know.