by i want to write more. i want to say something of value, not merely sit spinning my wheels in the mud of it all. sometimes i wonder if there’s a point to any of this in the face of the imminent heat death of the planet. who am i writing this down for? will we need art while we drown? i’ve decided i no longer care. the nonsense i scribble in the margins of my to-do lists brings me an inordinate amount of peace, and that will be enough for me.
i want to find it in me to say things with capital letters. somewhere along the way i decided that if i spoke in lowercase it would mean i was taking myself less seriously and therefore would be easier to stand. i have never been a lowercase person. i like the way that it looks (it makes me feel like i’m sixteen and on tumblr in my bedroom in the middle of the night), but i think if i do one more thing for the aesthetics of it i might just shrivel up and fully become the performative little shell i’ve been terrified of all this time.
i want to find myself a home in the world. it doesn’t have to be a forever home; it doesn’t even need to be a home for six months. but i want to hang things on the walls and have my own system for doing the laundry and be the one who picks everything out at the supermarket.
i want to be able to look people in the eyes in grocery stores. i am tired of looking at my shoes. i know where the scuffs are, i know which parts of my shoelace are frayed. i want to look forward, and allow people to look me in the eyes without feeling sorry for such a thing.
i want to want these things without apology, without a caveat. i want to want without thinking it a sin.
