Maybe you have to hit rock bottom with your writing, with your confidence in your writing—and without any semblance of confidence, there is no writing. Maybe you have to fall. And fall hard. After that maybe you can go on.
By you, clearly I mean me. Maybe I have to go splat.
Yesterday, let’s not talk about yesterday. E asked me how it went; I told him we couldn’t talk about it, so we watched an awful movie instead. He wanted to talk about it, he tried, he doesn’t like seeing me dangling here, but I couldn’t put it to words, this hopelessness, I get all defensive when I talk about it, so it’s better to be quiet on the subject.
To avoid it at all costs.
Things are not going well. But today feels a bit—a solid smidge—better than yesterday, so maybe I’m climbing back up.
(If you want the truth, I know I haven’t hit rock bottom yet: there’s still a ways to fall. But let’s pretend I don’t know that. Maybe I can avoid feeling worse.)
Avoidance is one of my great talents.