belated meme-ending
I never finished the ten-day meme for a very silly reason: I was too lazy to deal with the two-images thing. Finding them, uploading them ... there was just too much on my mind.
As for what they'd be, that's easy:
The New York skyline, seen from Brooklyn.
A sunny, white room with nothing in it. Just a warm glow.
I don't feel like explaining.
And one confession? No one confesses anything in these. Well, almost no one. I've got so little to confess. That implies some sort of don't-want-to-tell, or a secret, or a thing I feel guilty or conflicted about. It's a new year, and I don't feel guilty or conflicted about anything. Scared, yes. Nervous, uncertain, worried about the details. But good.
I confess that my life is currently split neatly down the middle between knowing exactly what I want and not knowing what I want at all. The first part is clear and true and certain. The second is complicated and scary: I don't know what I want to do with myself. I don't know what I should be doing with my life, with whatever talents I have, for work, to survive, to thrive, to make things and patch together words and look at stories and connect with people. I don't know where the work is in that. In all the things I care about and want. I confess that I'm afraid I'll never figure it out.
But I have the things I know to carry me through. I'll get the rest of it sorted. I'll get there.
As for what they'd be, that's easy:
The New York skyline, seen from Brooklyn.
A sunny, white room with nothing in it. Just a warm glow.
I don't feel like explaining.
And one confession? No one confesses anything in these. Well, almost no one. I've got so little to confess. That implies some sort of don't-want-to-tell, or a secret, or a thing I feel guilty or conflicted about. It's a new year, and I don't feel guilty or conflicted about anything. Scared, yes. Nervous, uncertain, worried about the details. But good.
I confess that my life is currently split neatly down the middle between knowing exactly what I want and not knowing what I want at all. The first part is clear and true and certain. The second is complicated and scary: I don't know what I want to do with myself. I don't know what I should be doing with my life, with whatever talents I have, for work, to survive, to thrive, to make things and patch together words and look at stories and connect with people. I don't know where the work is in that. In all the things I care about and want. I confess that I'm afraid I'll never figure it out.
But I have the things I know to carry me through. I'll get the rest of it sorted. I'll get there.