Sometimes, well most of the time, I have projects filtering through my mind. And most of the time, well some of the time, I write them out and post them on my blog. Should I? If I think long about that question, I hesitate and decide not to post. This is a good thing. I have long been impulsive. Anxious. Dreading myself. Second guessing if I am worth the ink I spill. And spill and spill and spill.
Yes. I become too introspective, too over-the-top dramatic. This post is a prime example of why I am sure others find me contagious. If the sun is shining, most the time you will find me crying in my coffee. My cup neither empty or full. Fate in life, for me, is a cup in my hand waiting to spill. With paper stained, I dread the peering eyes. I really never like the words I have written. My foot tapping. I just want to dance.