Chicken box

I think I had decided to be cool and aloof over this.  But, here, in the moment, I am feeling very lost.   Beyond my misgivings here, my life is very on the nose.   My emotions on my sleeve.  A facebook update here, a tweet there.

A passing word to a coworker

A sleepy notion to my wife.

But this is where I show my work.  This is where I can write the words down and it doesn’t matter if it makes sense.

It doesn’t matter how many times I hit enter

And it certainly doesn’t matter how it looks

I felt it.  I wrote it. And then I can move on knowing it’s there for someone else to read.  These days, that someone might be somebody just chancing across my diary.  It could be a consistent voice that has been there for me here and there and /here/ for a little bit now. 

or, it could be no one.

But it’s there.    I have boxes of notebooks that are just by me and for me.  This was always for you.
 

And the thought of starting a new seems dreary.  I’d much rather be on-the-nose-me then hit-enter-a-lot-me.  But I really shouldn’t be either.

I suppose there is a middle ground.

Or maybe I just have to finally learn to let it all go and just exhale

The answers are not in here.  But like I said, this was just me showing

the work.