70. i pick my nails before i realize it
i feel like i'm doing really well these days. illuminating a positive energy around me, able to handle customer service in a new way even. flashing people a smile at the gym like i own the building. even getting asked by a guy wearing a emirates jersey to help him execute the sitting leg curl machine. "do you know how to work this machine?" he says. it takes me a second to get into the scene. before that, i was lost in my thoughts, my hamstrings and my 10,405 liked songs. now suddenly i'm a fitness instructor. well, not exactly. but i take this opportunity to help seriously -- i really want to help the guy. pass on what i know, the best way i know how. and i'm only a little farther down this fitness journey than he is.
so yeah. i'm doing well. yet why does it feel like something is going to go wrong? something treacherous is gurgling underneath the surface and i'm just holding it together? why does it feel like there's a hole inside still?
the foundation is unstable. that's what it feels like. it feels like i'm building a tower, a pyramid, a sculpture. but the clay is still warm. warm? eh, warm. fluid. still amendable to change shape.
and i guess i fear something is going to set my life into a sinking boat at some point because things are starting to kick into a groove. the new job isn't perfect. neither is my non-existent love life, which admittedly i still do wish was existent. just like that. i'm still fatter than i'd like to be. i'm still gearing up each day to tackle a fight with an application, a blank page to send to an admissions committee. but life is moving in a new, wholesome direction.
i'm always picking my nails and i don't even realize i'm doing it until i do. does it feel good? honestly, kind of. feels kind of comforting. a bit more focus. somewhere to put my focus. it's like i'm plucking the strings of my limbs. maybe not exactly. but something like that. i don't really feel a need to change it every time i realize i'm doing it again. but i'm also hyper aware of it.
why am i writing about this? i have no clue.
there's so many things i want to be writing about. writing, period. so. many. damn. things. that's the thing i wish i had more time and energy to do instead of bouncing between secondaries and the job. write the stories. i'm writing plenty of stories, alright. but not the ones that light up my soul. i'm writing about my own stories, stories that feel 80% true. and i have to write them so many times it's excruciating. isn't one time enough?
because i'm afraid i'll get rejected 39 times, from 39 different places across the big country, from california to texas to new hampshire.
what is life without a risk and a challenge?