So I’m tryin’ to get back into this bloggin’ thing and it’s hard. I tell myself, “Why bother? You’ve got nothin’ to say.” But, me havin’ somethin’ to say is not the point, no, me sayin’ that nothin’ I have to say is the point.
I don’t know.
All I know is: I don’t feel right if I’m not puttin’ one letter in front of the next.
All I know is: I’m back on this page gettin’ rid of the garbage piled to the ceiling of my mind’s garage.
And, once the garage is clear, then it’s on to tacklin’ the mess I’ve made of the rest of my interior. The mess I’ve made just because I’ve been avoidin’ this daily opportunity to haul my meta-physical trash to the curb. The mess that’s become so comfortable a wallow I don’t want to give it up.
I’ve become a mental hoarder and I’m afraid to let go.