I’ve flirted with writing. Perhaps a more apt phrase would be ‘flourishes of thought which have fallen back down to earth before they had barely left the ground’ (more apt? Yes. Too verbose? Also yes).
But the longer I put it off, the scarier it got. The pen, which should be my weapon, felt heavier, uneasy and more dangerous in my hand and, like a novice holding a loaded gun, I am fumbling to see if I’ve left the safety on. (Even that simile flowed; first freely, then clumsily and now awkwardly and embarrassingly from my hands in only the few seconds of self-deprecating hindsight which I have allowed myself).
In spite of this paralysing self-doubt I have decided to dip my toe in. As a young person with liberal values, but also nagging traditional sentiments, I find living in the 21st century confusing and difficult to navigate.
I say this with the greatest fashionable hypocrisy: I abhor modern living and profess to yearn for a simpler time whilst simultaneously struggling to retain an acceptable level of composure when I find both my favourite brand of sweetener AND a free wifi network under the same roof, (thankyou Starbucks, you capitalist swine).
Honestly, for quite a raging narcissist, it’s quite astounding that I’m only just getting around to publicising my opinions as a fashionably-hypocritical, young, film-aficianado/foodie/feminist.
Will these musings be clumsy? Probably. Will they be valuable? Perhaps. Will they be violent? Definitely.
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