nth-Time is the Charm (an introduction)

Every time I have the full intention of starting a journal, or a blog, the same thing happens every time. I forget about it; I guess? One would think that given my proclivities for writing I would naturally gravitate toward wanting to keep a space for my internal monologuing, but I struggle severely to do it regularly. I guess maybe it’s the ADHD? The depression? Sheer laziness? Disinterest? Maybe it’s the lack of discipline? Or do I maybe think it needs to come out perfectly and that I need to like… write some essay that will have a profound impact upon any unfortunate reader? Like I have this knee-jerk reaction to plan out these posts and do research and write dissertations on them when maybe, really, actually, I just need to get into the habit of writing them regularly first. That might be the likelier culprit.

I have such high expectations for myself that I rarely ever just allow myself to be messy and human. I guess I just want the words and ideas I put out into the world to be perfect. These entries are so long overdue and journaling might prove very therapeutic for me. And I know better than anyone else just how badly I need therapy. Since I’m doing my best to hold myself accountable, I suppose I should give an introduction. So I guess, here I go.

Hi.

I’ll go by The Writer here, and I’m a 30-year-old she/they. I have two cats (actually it’s four, but don’t tell my landlord), one darling girlfriend, and a patio full of plants with twinkling lights. I fancy myself a writer, and I’m trying really hard to finish a novel. I’m not sure what else to say that’s relevant because I think most other information might come out in their own ways through other entries. I’m recovering from a kidney infection and needed to ease myself into doing some kind of work until I can re-focus on my novel; I really missed writing, but the humming in my head was too loud to want to do anything… creatively productive.

I guess something important to mention is my dead mother; she passed away before my 25th birthday and the event left me incredibly traumatized. I found another blog I was trying to work on (some years ago, long before the 2020 pandemic started) and its focus was on me trying to still navigate this part of my life. I was also in a very dark space when I started it. Incredibly dark. I reread some drafts, and it was like a lead weight dropped onto my chest. Suffocating. I still think it’s something worthy to pursue, but I need to get into the right framework to begin it. I have a tiny support network. Four cats, one person, a patio full of plants tiny. And I’m fiercely private. I guess we’ll see how that works out?

So the purpose of this blog? I suppose for my art? I still need to organize things. It might be too early to dedicate a blog to one thing when I don’t have it full of entries yet, but the goal is to talk about my writing and myself as the writer. Maybe also things I’m very passionate about. I can feel myself getting squirrelly right now and I told myself I would absolutely get the first post out and not just hide it in the drafts like all the others. There was more I wanted to add, more I wanted to say, but they’ll come. Eventually. First things first, and this is the first.

Until next time, soon.