Warning: attention whoring inside.
Don’t break character You’ve got a lot of heart Is this real or just a dream? Rise up like the sun Labour till the work is done
I feel like a fraud sometimes.
From writing to working to everything else.
I sometimes feel like I’m a fraud. That I got to this age, to this life, to this place, all through luck. Makes sense for me to think so, when you consider that at 5 years old, I doubted I could reach 21 years old, much less thirty.
I still remember that moment. Lying on my back. Remembering fragments of a conversation earlier about someone having a birthday party or turning 21. Not sure which. But thinking vaguely to myself, that wow, it’d be incredible if I reached that same age. And thirty? That would be a miracle.
And at 31 in a few weeks, I’m surprised I’m still alive. Still here to type these words, though I’m not sure who will read this. I apologise for the pessimism, but as a woman, I can and will claim the monthly hormonal imbalances.
It doesn’t change the thoughts I’ve been having though, but merely allows me to open and vulnerable.
Because it takes a lot to write such thoughts. To laying out your heart.
But this is the safest way I know of confronting who I am. And to try to figure out who I want to be.
Don’t break character You’ve got sooooo much heart Is this real or just a dream? Oh Rise up like the sun And labour till the work is done
My work is not done. I am not done, not by a long mile. For now, Over rock and chain, over sunset plain. Over trap and snare. Tis time to be acquainted with my old tools again.