I just want to write.

You should see my drafts box, all overloaded and bursting with half-written posts and unfinished thoughts. Each time I login to write, those posts stare back at me like I’m some sort of traitor — not allowing them out in to the world. Instead, I open several of them in different tabs, read through the words, make minor changes, hit “save draft” and exit out of the screen. Feeling no more accomplished than I did when I first logged in.

Being prepared for the worst.

It didn’t matter what it was. It didn’t matter what my odds were of it happening. The variable didn’t matter because it didn’t change the way I thought, the way I prepared or how scared I was of not only letting myself down, but more so, letting everyone else down and allowing them to see me fail.