It's 4:51 am, and I have to be at school in exactly 4 hours, 9 minutes. I have, in theory, three hours and 5 minutes to sleep, assuming I want to catch the 8 am subway and I pack everything I need well ahead of time.
Why am I typing instead of going to bed? Some weird sense of masochism, undoubtedly. I think it's also because when I'm suffering the effects of sleep deprivation, my inner censors go into standby, and I become much more likely to just type whatever comes into my head without wondering whether it's really the right thing to say. And some days, I just want to talk.
I was thinking about writing earlier today, which isn't surprising since I was reading Stephen King's book "On Writing." As usual, the most prominent detail is that in order to become a good writer, one must write. Simple, no? And also a matter of common sense, since one can hardly get better at something one doesn't do. What it ultimately brings back, however, is the simple fact that a) I have but so many hours in the day and b) I'm a lazy, procrastinating bastard. A is not easily solved, unless someone out there knows a way to build a time machine from home appliances. B, however...well...B isn't easily solved either, as I find the will the change can be a remarkably difficult thing to muster. Change doesn't come easily to me, particularly not changes in habits, and to start writing again - writing properly - would require me to abandon a lot of vices I seem to have accumulated since I moved out of my mother's house. Every part of me recognizes what a wonderful thing it would really be, to be writing again...but I'm scared of it.
So there, total honesty. I'm scared I'm going to fall flat on my face, and write crap. All evidence points to the contrary, that I am actually a rather competent writer with enough talent to become a good (possibly even great) one. But I'm afraid to take that step, and commit. It's like I'm standing on the edge of a ten meter platform, looking down at that teal blue water, and feeling my heart clinging onto my esophagus for dear life. A bellyflop at this distance would hurt...a lot. And I'm so very tired of getting hurt.
I should be to bed.
