But when the time came, and I chose to close my notebook and lace up one of my three pairs of running shoes, I discovered that the hope was nothing more than that—a wish for an untrue thing to be true. Honestly, I have to confess, I’m not sure if I like actually running or if I just prefer it to sitting in front of a blank sheet of paper attempting (and failing) to be special.
But I hate feeling like I am just one more writer with confidence issues. It’s so cliché and uninteresting.
I cannot write because I have a cold. I need to conserve my energy.
I’ve decided to work from bed today.
“But I don’t like writing!”
“Few people do, bud.”
I mean, aren’t y’all tired?
I am suffering from the type of writer’s block that comes from having too many political conversations with Conservative Christians. It’s not that I have nothing to say, but rather that I don’t feel like talking to y’all anymore.
My smiles have been fake all day and now my cheeks, in addition to my soul, hurt.
The difference between being famous and being normal is that famous people have figured out how to market their mediocrity.
I used to be able to eat a whole large pizza by alone, but life happened and I seem to have lost myself. I’ve lost all confidence in my skills and abilities.