When words don't spill.

Confession. I almost decided to stop writing today.
And I'm not sure why myself. Maybe it's just the scary lightning that got me into this mood.
This isn't writer's block (I'm not narcissistic enough to have that yet), it's plain simple insecurity.
I fear I'm not good enough at this, that I'm unable to get my message across to many.
I've been thinking of this for the past 2 hours now.

But it's 8 p.m. I've had enough sad thoughts for the day.
Time to defeat this inertia and see some of my words on my laptop screen. Time to convince my primal brain stem that all this negativity is me being teenager-typical melodramatic. Time to reassure myself that my brain isn't decomposing into tiny shreds of its former robust self. Time to believe I was a Renaissance humanist, or a poet from Atlantis in a previous life.
Time to convince myself that I am NOT a zombie from the twilight zone; that my writing does not put insomniacs to sleep!


I look up from my mundane passage and observe what's happening around. My sister is splashing around in puddles, my mom is watching the "News at 8" on some channel, dad's wondering why he supported Denmark and not Netherlands today. Noone else is consumed in this pathology they call writing. While everyone else is relaxing at the end of a busy Monday, I stare into an abyss.

ENOUGH!!!!
I need to get out of this yo-yo bullcrap. Yesterday!
I have ideas, good ideas, the words are in me, so come what may, I shall write. My sentences ARE more interesting than what I read on the label of Minute Maid Pulpy Orange Juice in front of me.
So, I'm just dipping my toe now, and jumping. Into the familiar world of filling words onto an empty page.
And guess what?
The water's fine. I don't really have a choice, do I?
I will continue to write in my little corner in cyberspace.:)