I miss the writing spells that would spontaneously cast themselves upon me owing to the serious of lack, or none of posts, this year. I’ve had many passive ones over the past months, especially as I had traveled for more than 2 months this year. However, a wretched potion, called “realistic goals” proved far more potent an antidote to the said spells. As of now, I feel secluded and burdened by the expectations that I’ve set for myself. Which is maddening at some points, but I know I’ve made it far enough to realize it’s too late to go back. That being said, I’ll be back soon.
I know barely anyone reads this page but the spillage here is something that I choose to not advertise in my social circles. I feel that the fluidity my mind assumes is best when it’s just for myself, and there is a satisfaction in writing without an ounce of narcissism or feeling weighed down by the idea of impressing an audience. It’s like a gift I give to myself and my does it feel heavenly.
I’ll back to furnish you soon, dear. Till then, au revoir!