I read in a book that took me a month to finish "We are all passive protagonists until we learn how to write." I don't know why I felt it important to state how long it took me to read the book. Maybe because ten years ago I breezed through books in such a manner that left whatever novel or short story starved and neglected--gathering dust in a corner until I donated it or threw it out. Some articles I had to read for college I boxed to burn later.
That day has yet to be determined.
As long as I could type and hold a pen, I wrote what I could. I copied, mimicked, and pretended my life and craft to where I am now. I bought classic novels in some futile attempt to appear intelligent, yet I've only read maybe five (or six?) of them and fully understood two of them at best. Thank God for semi-faithful movie adaptations. Maybe that's why I'm stagnated in the belief that my two customer service jobs will equate to some masterpiece transcending the human experience. A millennial masterpiece, but that has yet to come.
With each word I write I convince myself that it has the potential to become something more than its creator; like a mother deluding herself into believing her child will become the next president. I should be so lucky.
There is a chance any combination of my words will appear in another book—a book with a "bestseller" label on it. Words are up for grabs, I guess. Well, here are the words I grabbed. Some appear more than once. Some have already crossed your mind because of another, more talented wordsmith. Such is life.
My life and my comfort. I sink so easily into both.
YOU ARE READING
Caffeine and Me
PoetryA collection of poetry ranging from brain farts to exploring why I bother getting up in the morning. Most likely there is some form of caffeine to keep me awake (or alert) enough to type my thoughts out regarding my depression, struggles within my d...
