Majority of people don’t want to fill their RX’s for prescription glasses on Sundays. But if they do, I’m around. And if they don’t, I get to thinking.
What if I really can’t write?
Let’s back up a second. What if all this time, through different seasons of my life, while no matter what I’ve been investing my self in, I’ve always been writing, it turns out that I can’t write for shit? Let’s take another step back.
A recap of the past few years. I’ve counselled, I’ve cashiered, I’ve counted money, I’ve collected insurance information. I’ve played the piano, I’ve painted pictures, I’ve dabbled in make-up artistry and soup cooking and sewing and kissing. But above all, I have written.
And so I ask you.
What if after all is said and done, I just can’t write?
I’m just no good. I’m just not up to it. I’m just not heard.
Well. Take two.