My writing process is esoteric. My entire approach to living feels esoteric. I’m not sure if it’s solipsism or creativity. 

I’m the type of person that would insist on writing everything by hand except for the searing pain shooting down my right arm every time I hold a pen.

I carry a lot of baggage. Things I don’t need. I’m saving some of it to validate people I don’t plan to ever see again. I know what I want out of this life so I’m preparing to molt. Shedding layers of myself, raw and pink, the air itself burns at first. Learning how to walk once again, I’m willing to carry less each time. The things that matter are what get all the way to the grave.

Right now, that might just be a metaphor for back pain. I wish I was a dolphin. #seamammalenvy