Color belt

Let me tell you a story.

To have a mood disorder is to never finish a project. Curse having had ambitions at all. I have often had near infinite energy, but are tethered to the iron-ensconced timeline of learning. The need to revise, over and over, makes foreign languages and games like chess very difficult. I am perpetually not quite a complete novice, but not in the place where it's fun to use what I know. Spanish is struggle, trying to get my way out of the opening in chess: also struggle.

Since I reached something a bit more like stability in 2012, as rickety as the enterprise has been, I have accomplished some projects. My first blog was about six hundred posts over nearly a decade. I accumulated one, then two, then three degrees. I figured out how to write poetry often enough that it didn't feel fraudulent to list poetry as a hobby on OKCupid.

But it is a special kind of shame to decide on something, tell many people about it, then that thing dies on the vine and people for months and years afterword ask about it. I want to shrivel into nothing, please, oh please merciful one. Don't remind me of The Spiral. I can't tell the fire within my mind not to tell people, not to dream silly things. It cares not for the crash, the embarrassment.

I less want to finish specific things than finish anything.

Artemis