This is one of those "if I write it down somewhere it'll happen because I'll be forced to do it" kinds of posts. Something about the subliminal power of making public vows to do something, like New Years' resolutions shared with a close friend, someone who will become a constant reminder not only of the promises you made with yourself, but of the pact, the unbreakable, inescapable, sealed-in-a-spit-handshake pact that one's success is the other's success, and one's failure is the other's responsibility to reverse for the better. And, yes, I may have just compared the Wordpress blogging platform to a potential best friend I would consider exchanging spit-handshakes with on New Years' Eve. That's not the point. (Shut up.)

The point is, THINGS ARE HAPPENING. MAYBE. POSSIBLY. FAT CHANCE. Er, I'm working on that self-deprecating, low self-esteem thing. I'm very well aware that it's neither cute, nor endearing. Here's the thing: I'm going to make things happen, at the very least. (Therapist voice ON:) You need to make things happen yourself. Be your own hero! Become a do-er! Don't wait for the doors to open, knock them down before they do ("knock," har, har, get it? I'm hilarious)! Create your own opportunities! (Therapist voice OFF.) Barf, barf, barf.

No, but, really. I just finished reading a book that is set to crack my top five ever. I'll probably write about it in the near future, but right now I'm too emotional and giddy to properly gush about it. I need a friend to gush with that is not a digital, virtual entity with a logo and a matching automatic email-sending bot. But for now I'm feeling inspired, and pumped, and inspired, inspired, inspired, like I haven't been in a long time. It feels great. I'm elated. And I intend on riding the wave for as long as I can stand on the stupid board without falling off and drowning to death. So. For now, that includes finishing NaNoWriMo with a FUCKING BANG, NOT A WHIMPER. Take that, Thomas Stearns! And something else which I'm feeling too sensitive and anxious about to actually write out.

Also, "Vienna" is a gift, my comfort song, the musical equivalent of "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" or a big bowl of mac and cheese. I mean, come on. Slow down, you crazy child. Where's the fire, what's the hurry about? Slow down, you're doing fine. You can't be everything you want to be before your time. Though you can see when you're wrong, you can't always see when you're right.

I'm not making any sense but it doesn't matter. Things are good. Well, I'm maybe not there yet—I'm actually way, way far off from "there," wherever that place is where things are, or will be, good. But at least tonight, things are looking up. Things are happening. (Big things, wow things). I'm allowing myself to be optimistic. Carefully, cautiously optimistic. But still. Count the quiet wins, count the quiet wins, right? Tonight is a win. Tomorrow is going to be good. I'm going to write and I'm going to write some more, and after seven or eight cups of coffee, write more and more and more.

"Just keep filling up the pages."

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