This isn't what I wanted to write⁠↗

The sheer magnitude of potential and inevitable failure made me wanna hurl. But I was too chicken shit to even do that. I couldn’t even hurl. So I wrote nothing. Inaction cannot be critiqued because it did not exist. Except, of course, it did. Newton’s fourth, imperfect law: inaction is itself action. If true, then not writing is the worst move you can make. A breakthrough! By the logic of Newton himself, writing is better than not writing! Close, it turns out, is true in horseshoes, hand grenades, AND personal writing.

There isn’t a right way to say anything. There is only what emerges. A feeling becomes words so it can again become a feeling. From me to you and back again. All of this - the sentences and words and hell, even paragraphs, are lil vehicles that transport ideas and feelings and things we don’t yet have words for (galoons, rushbas, pooms) from me to you and back to me again, like an echo echo echo.

No, this isn’t the piece I wanted to write. Not even close. It’s so much better. It’s the piece I wrote.