Trying to figure out why I can be so passionate about writing one minute and then abandon it the next. There's a sense of release and comfort that comes from typing out my thoughts. All that busy-ness from inside my head onto the page where it takes on some order. Maybe trying to figure it out is just another way to avoid being.
What's so scary about being? Maybe I should try the statue thing; just sit still and not move. Don't respond. Just absorb the weather. I'm going to give this blog another shot. For my inner city. Maybe we can establish a little order.