boi what the hell boi

I think I’m at my best when I’m wearing 10 different hats. I get bored of doing the same task over and over. Right now I look at my task list and every one seems to demand a different part of me. Write, edit a video, coordinate a meeting, keep people on task, write interview questions, record, workout, take notes, design website. I can’t say I have a perfect formula to get it all done. Right now I’m having trouble deciding what to start next. Sometimes I have a hard time committing to the task when it feels like I have a million. I guess I’ve decided to start working on the blog but I am thinking about going swimming.

There’s probably a better way to manage these tasks, an optimal routine a Chad on the internet has laid out in a digital planner he’s selling for $30. Instead I think of my time as school periods. You’re in class for an hour and a half. You get up and walk to the next one. Then it feels like you’re in a new world for another hour and a half. My mind feels conditioned to go quickly from one thing to the next. Never staying in one place for too long.

I kind of hate where this blog is going so I’m thinking about swimming again. There’s probably cardinal writing rules I’m breaking right now. I’m not 100% focused. I’m dictating every thought that’s coming into my mind. This blog will probably be a throwaway. They can’t all be bangers, right?

I’m in a moment where my mind is shifting away from the outcome and toward the process. I feel like everything I’ve been making is ugly. My sentences are only occasionally sharp. They rarely form a beautiful bridge where you can walk across my shifting thinking with divine clarity.

Everyday I’m having moments of doubt where I want to turn away from my recent honest streak. I filmed a video yesterday that feels like I cracked myself open. You could see my soft underbelly. One part of me thinks what could I stand to gain from this vulnerability? Another part thinks I’m in service to something larger than myself, the outcome is irrelevant.

My prose is messy and a bit of talent can only get me so far. You can’t be a writer without being a little self-obsessed and a little self-loathing.

Girl so confusing.

Might just end this shit in a poem.

Gonna stop trying so hard.

And start saying things like chuzz in my fancy writing.

Hemingway’s worst nightmare.

My angels are sending this to him in hell.

Didn’t mean to make this a diss.

I just like pissing old white men off.

Does that make me your favorite writer?

Jk, fuck you I don’t do fan service.

Is my mom gonna read this?

I hope so

She always knew I was a demon

SLAT

Girl what the hell was that. You know what, who cares, it was fun to write. I told you I like wearing 10 different hats.