(day 16 of 30 in 30)
Sometimes when I write deeply personal things like the last couple posts, it takes a lot out of me. It makes me wonder why, all these years later, I'm still writing. If I share too much, say too much too openly to strangers. Not all of whom would wish me well.
I always reach an impasse with this conversation; maybe it's too much but would I have some stranger silence me?
But still, writing as I do sometimes makes me tired. This is no excuse for missing yesterday's post. But it is why.
This post is nothing but an excuse, no matter how valid it feels. I recognize that.
I slid this post in right as the door shut on today.
I'm still here. Tired and leery. But writing and, somehow, even at an impasse, unburdened.