Writing in a journal by hand and writing how I am writing this post are two viscerally different things.

When it comes to writing for myself with a pen, my thoughts don’t have to be long or drawn out, they just have to be put down. That makes it just that bit easier as a writer. It’s not terribly creative. I’m not crafting posts for the public, so I don’t have any metaphors to unpack, nor any analogous bridges to gap for my readers.

I do love doing that, don’t get me wrong, but I have to secure my mask first before to I tend to yours, my dear children.

The downside that I’ve noticed, however, is that my brain becomes a bit sluggish in accessing those warm and fuzzy words that construct and decorate those metaphoric bridges I build. There’s a bit of a disconnect that develops. Even in verbal communication I’m slower than I remember at grasping for words to use. But now that I know the root of the problem, I’m utilizing the solution, just by writing this. Tapping that bit of rust off the joints. Bear with me. Help me out, even.


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