Cheap

I unpublished yesterday’s post, it just felt inauthentic, and cheap.

I’ve come here to be as open and true to myself as I can, to write daily in my own voice. And what started as an intriguing idea, slowly turned into a filthy mash of synonyms and pseudo thinking.

All day I walked around with an ickiness, like I had betrayed myself, and now I was on display. My inner dialogue acting as if I was the victim and perpetrator simultaneously. Over an entry that was no more memorable than a shopping list shy of two weeks in age. All because I was swept up in the desire to publish something before falling asleep, to keep this daily streak of posting alive.

I was halfway through another topic last night, when this train of thought pulled in. It was new and fresh and I liked where it was headed, so I swapped lines. But the more I indulged the idea, the greater the sense it wasn’t heading in the direction that I wanted to go and there was no hopping off. Instead of being on this voyage of grandeur, I was on the last graffiti-riddled train of the evening, with a handful of unsavoury characters in my peripherals.

I continued to write, cull, swap segments, revise words, and the longer I spent the more determined to carve out a magnum opus I became. I don’t know where this urge to write infallibly had emerged from all of a sudden. I was no longer writing for self exploration and expression but for showmanship. With how empty those eighty-eight words turned out to be, I wish I’d not written anything at all.

So I decided to remove it. Instantly along with it, the days veil of angst. Maybe I’ll come back to it in the future, let it sit in my subconscious and possibly rehash the idea another time, or maybe it was always at its strongest as a sentence of support. To be appreciated as an appetiser, and not the main course.