I AM SO SUCK AT WRITING RIGHT NOW

I can’t. do it. Make the sentence. Complete an thought…what? Where the fuck am I? DKI@#$J09^TGHK! Maybe you’ve noticed…I’ve been feeling completely inept at writing lately. 

I’d blame it on busyness, but we’re all always busy. It’s just a matter of how we stack our busy things. While writing is still stacked close to the top, it just hasn’t been happening. I have been trying, kind of: I’ve started about 9 posts but keep losing focus.

I’ve also been writing in my notebook, but most paragraphs end with the word “Ahh!” followed by a smiley face. So if it’s not busyness, I think I have to blame it on happiness. And not exactly the peaceful type of happiness, but a weird sort of giddy elation I’m not really used to.

It’s also possible I’ve developed adult-onset a.d.h.d.

What was I saying?

Oh yes, happiness. I realize now that I’m more comfortable sharing sadness than happiness. To declare one's happiness sounds boastful at best, desperate and inauthentic at worst. Every post I started was bubbling over with this newfound excitement for life, so every time I read what I wrote, I just put a lid on it and pressed command+q quick as I could, because it gave me the creeps.

But one of the evolving reasons I keep this blog is to share my human experience in a complete way. More complete than other platforms will allow at least. And if happiness is part of my experience now, I shouldn’t just wait until it goes away to write again, right?

I’m gonna force myself to talk about it, in a (fingers crossed) unboasty way.

Something about moving triggered this drastic mood shift. I didn’t see myself as unhappy before, and have always tried to approach life with joy. But a lot of shit went down the last few years, and part of my psyche started to believe that I would just always be sad about it, that adulthood was just an accumulation of painful experiences, and that I would get stronger from carrying them.

Moving helped me realize that I could put them down.

My first night here, some friends came over to help me assemble furniture and explore the neighborhood. I could hear myself incessantly cheeping “Everything is different!” as I looked around in awe, but couldn’t really stop myself because I was just so elated. It’s been a few weeks, and I still feel that way. I'm getting better at keeping it quieter though :)

Packing up my old apartment with all its heartache, and leaving behind that part of the Bay with all its memories helped me feel like I could move on from the things that had hurt so much the past few years. I’m still the same person so I’ll still carry the scars, but I don’t have to carry the weight. I can change my circumstances.

You can too. If you ever find yourself in a dark place and you can't remember which direction the sun will come from, or you're wondering if it's even coming back for you, just keep moving. You'll find it.

Cheesy as shit right?! I told you, happiness makes me a terrible writer!

I’ve lived enough to know that this happy place is not a final destination though. It’s as impermanent as the previous stage of my life, as fleeting as every other moment has been and will be. I know that I won’t always be smiling at every dog I pass and asking how his/her day has been, but I do want to remember this time.

So, as uninspired to write as I have been thus far, I’m going to make an effort to write through this period. Just go easy on me and know that quality control is out on a picnic!

bows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air,
tria 
xoxo