Stories from a life in progress.


I've been cowardly lately, and it's been shriveling up my writing and it's time to stop. In this space for standing up and talking about real life, I have not wanted to say that I am moving. I'm leaving my apartment and living with my family. The house is my parents', but I see a much larger cross-section of family regularly from here than I do from my solitary space. I really moved a couple of months ago, when my anxiety troubles were at their worst, informally and not expecting a long-term stay, but it's becoming formal. I've given notice to my landlord, and have started shifting chunks of my belongings.

I've been avoiding saying it here. I thought about never saying it at all. But the reason why is not a good one, and for that I have to say it. I'm not letting a lurking, cowardly motivation stand.

I'm afraid to write that I'm moving to live with my parents and family because I think the people who read what I say in this space will say "wow, what a loser she is."

But it's not even about other people. The fear just dresses itself up that way. What I am really afraid of is that I actually am a loser.

So, maybe that is true and maybe it isn't. I don't have an answer for that today.

If I am a loser, I am going to stand up and be a loser in front of the world. No more cowardice.

If I'm not, then it's irrelevant and I have better things to do and worry about. Stuff doesn't move itself, and blogs don't write themselves, and household work doesn't finish itself. Time to get to it.