One Hundred

This is the 100th post on ALKM.

It's hard coming back to it. It's hard when I try to remember what it felt like, before the long silence. For months now, I have had the desire to work, but not the motivation or the means. Perhaps the desire is not pure enough? Not honest enough? Or perhaps the desire to work is subservient to the will to do so and the fact is, the will is a magnificent machine so easily corrupted by fear or sloth or perfectionism.

Perhaps it is a mistake to consider these things as separate sins. Perhaps they are brethren, each one leading into the other, each one feeding the next, an ouroboros for our modern age.

As you might be able to tell, I am not in a good place right now or rather, my head is not a good place to be at the moment. I spend too much time in here, always have, but these days, it's lonelier. I don't have the familiar comforts of old friends and stories to keep me from distractions. Unless I seek out distractions to prevent facing my own failure to live up to my personal expectations.

The words don't come to me as easily as they used to; it feels like I trip over them when I speak now and where there was one a certain rhythm to it, now I am uncertain, jittery, choppy. I can't make it work like it used to work. The machine is breaking down, running on empty.

I hate this. I hate feeling empty inside. I hate having nothing worth saying, to myself or to anybody.

Happy one hundred posts.