For the last few weeks, I've given new meaning to the words couch potato. I believe the living room sofa has a permanent imprint of my butt on it. If I wasn't at work, I was in front of the tv, letting the endless shows melt my brain. And I was fine with it. Until it worried me. What was I doing? Normally, I'm a pretty private person. I never let anyone know when something is bothering me. What changed? I'm letting my insecurities eat at me from the inside out. Not Good.
The commute from my job is a killer. But I like where I am. But it's draining. I can't think once I get home. I turn on the computer, putter around on Facebook, open my story, stare at it for a few minutes, then turn the computer off. That's when that horrible little voice starts in my head. "Why are you trying so hard? No one will read it anyway."
Today, I'm so over that little voice. So over finding every reason under the sun to not write. Over not feeling good enough. I'm over letting others control how I feel about myself. I am who
I am, and I will no longer apologize for it. Time to ROAR folks!