Shutting Down. Closing Out. Force Quitting.
Whether it's the cell phone, computer, or the brain, there's some joy in this action.
Erasing the mind and preconceived notions when something is being made, the mind equivalent of clearing the cache on your web browser.
Starting fresh, starting free.
I usually find myself writing when I have an excuse for something. Anxiety on the brain, or seeped within my process. It weaves it's way in and out of my life, and the output is something. Words or art, it depends. I don't always have a particular thing to say but there's a desire for something to exit. Anxiety is that pesky filled trash bin icon on your computer's dock, waiting for you to empty it. It's strange that sharing words to the internet is less worrisome than wondering that any person in this crowded Argo Tea is looking over my shoulder and reading this as I type.
Why is it harder to make something when you are there presently, owning up to whatever you create, rather than hiding behind an avatar or a URL. The internet can be a mask of the hard work, afraid of critique and the true feelings of your work, things that are much more valuable than a Reblog, a pixelized heart glyph, or a distorted "thumbs-up" icon.
We're more connected, but less so at the same time, at least to me. My thoughts are so active, but my voice so passive. Hiding behind words and art are the easiest ways to be heard and let it speak for me--and yet, I don't know how I feel about this truth.
Only time will tell. I'll keep typing until I find out.