I'm Not Very Good At This

I'm back, but we know it won't be for long; enjoy it while it lasts.

The last time I tried to resurrect this Substack, I tried to write about, objectively, the worst reality television show I had ever seen (MILF Manor, a show that, if God is good, no longer exists). I couldn’t stomach half of episode two, so that’s how that went. I stopped writing much after that.

The past year or so has been challenging. I’ve had lots in my life change — some of it for the better, more parts than I’d like for the worse. I sit in therapy and try to show myself compassion while Patricia (not her real name) gives me sympathetic looks and offers me basic advice my warped mind hadn’t even considered. I’ve created new, healthier routines to try and fix the sadness. All this stuff does help, and I’m not telling you all of this to make you worry about me, but there’s just been a missing link in how I need to process this stage of my life.

I think that missing link is the urge to write what I want, on my time, for whoever the fuck will listen. So, naturally, I’m back.

I am not making any promises of anything this time, though. My time is limited. I get to write more in a professional capacity (hell yeah), which leaves me even less time to care about my own work. This year, I started running because I needed a hobby and hated a man in my life who said he was running a marathon, and I wanted to pick up his sport out of spite; like a fool, I have not stopped, and now I train all the time. The ADHD diagnosis — and corresponding medication — have finally offered me context into why I make promises I can’t keep and self-impose deadlines I cannot hit.

Fewer expectations will hopefully let me do this without pressure.