I cut the tag out of my hat because it was infuriating me.
It's still not really better.
I am wasting time on Pinterest, eating chocolate cake as though I'll never have another slice, and thinking that I should be writing something worthwhile.
Really though, anything is better than nothing.
I did not want to come here. I did not want to re-start this blog for the 10th time. I did not want to write, really, but as I get older I am developing a sense of obligation to my art. To the parts of myself that I can only touch through the looking glass of self-reflective memoirs and shit. Otherwise, they're too hot. Too electrified to get close to. Too delicate to hold without leaving them covered in fingerprints.
In 11 days, I will be 30.
I suppose it is time to honor my gifts.