…having a blog that you don’t write in or post to because somehow maybe it won’t seem witty enough for someone who writes novels. I mean, seriously, how does my brain make up all these scenarios and then have a hard time coming up with something as simple as a blog post?

But blog posts aren’t exactly simple, are they?

They’re every bit a snippet into my soul as the multiple chapters I write out for my characters, telling their stories. Somehow, though, it’s scarier to tell my own. So I don’t. I keep it locked up inside until my brain starts screaming.

And then I stare at a blank screen.

I stare at the title portion and think… what in the world am I going to put there? I look at a blank page and realize that’s what my life is coming to, filling empty pages with whatever I can so that I’m not living the same life 365 days a year and considering it fulfilled.

I suppose that’s the Sagittarius in me, always searching for something new. It also has me missing road trips and new playlists and movies and shows to binge. It has me missing myself so much that I’m holed up in my room staring at my walls going HOW DID I GET HERE?

Imposter syndrome? Perhaps. Quarantine fatigue? Definitely.