Same old song

So I started this online journal thing.  I am mildly excited about it.  It could be cathartic.  I have wanted to write for a long time.  I tried writing much more when I was younger.  I threw a lot of things away that I thought were stupid but some things are still around.  Here is my last musing. I wrote it a few months ago shortly after I moved to PA.

I suppose it's not what you say, but how you say it.  I've always hesitated to write because I never felt like I had the authority to say anything because I've never done anything.  But the longer I go without writing the more unhappy I become.  All I've ever wanted to do was to write.  


I feel like I'm dying.  


How much time have I wasted doing nothing but doubting and wishing my entire adult life!  It is unbearable.  If I don't have what it takes to live it, the least I can do is write about it.  It is one step up from dreaming.  At least there is a manifestation of ink on paper - a materialization of thoughts.  No, it's not as good as living, but it's not being dead either.  I've been paralyzed for all this time, I might as well have been in a coma.
   
This initial writing exercise is like the flutter of an eyelid, the twitch of a finger after a long cold slumber.  It will take lots of time to get my voice.  And I may just have to admit that my writing sucks and I will never be witty or lyrical or even interesting, but it will keep me from dying.  Because if I can just imagine that there is someone that could read what I write and say "huh, this writer has something good to say." I would be happy.  So I will write to this imaginary critic...

...and then it trails off into illegible scratches as I fell asleep with this last thought.  that was the last time I felt like writing.  And here I am again trying it again..