You know the one. The one that makes you believe you ought to be a writer, because no matter how ridiculously emotional you get... or want to get.... how deliriously happy, or devastatingly disappointed or head over heels in love or ferociously angry... it's there, noting. Recording. Mocking Making ironic comments. Making you see the hour that others will see in your stupidity.
Maybe it makes things more bearable. Maybe it makes you feel always slightly disconnected. Or maybe it sometimes makes you feel like you've got an older sibling fucking with you all the time.
So nights when you are trucking along, burning through an accomplishment, and then get a disappointment that feels a little like slamming into a brick wall. Those nights the voice helpfully is there to point out that you could have a drink with anyone, wtf? It's not like this *is* anything. Nothing is anything until it's something... junior high wisdom.
So you're bummed. Whatever. Another man. What the hell? Where's your self-esteem, if all it takes is this to topple it?
And then the voice doesn't even give you the luxury of writing it out, because it mocks you for putting it out in a public forum. Because, you know, there's a chance *he* will read it, and maybe react. And that's what you're all about, isn't it? --- says the cynical voice.
The reaction is everything.
Who builds bridges on such weak footing as a held glance and chance vocal inflections anyway?
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But these are the building blocks of our lives -- a look, a comment, a pause, a possibility, and then we choose. Do we follow the possibility down the rabbit hole? Sometimes it leads to a pile of rabbit turds, and we slap our foreheads at the inevitably of it. But sometimes, surprisingly often, it leads to Wonderland. We can't stay in Wonderland forever, ever, but the fact of having been there is something that we take with us, and that gives us some fresh perspective when we meet up with the mock turtle.
Look around you, love -- you are a writer. It's what you do. It's your nature. You can't and won't change it. Live with it, and love it, and know that anyone who knows you is aware of that ... And to enter your life is to sign the waiver.
It could be much, much worse. You could've been born a mime.
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