Mediocre musing on attempts and eyeballs

You see, this space is still unpublished. Living like a silent, short, secret library of a handful of musings, at best. That big boiling pot of dreams and that vision I can’t get away from, has pointed me in many graveyard attempts. The only ever lesson were, if not this, then what. And by some mystery, or absolutely none at all, I end up with the conclusion, there must be something wrong with me. Which I technically know ain’t true but it’s my default until I get a grip again.

But. I was not meant to help women on their healing journey like that. Expansive Softness. Haha and yes and I love that. Not laughing at it, but laughing with my insatiable urge to want people to feel better. Not by me, but by themselves. Important distinction, hehe.

I was not meant to help female business owners work smart and earn more. I’d love nothing more than peace and profit for all women, but not like that. Not like me doing that. Derail but my favorite line, that is not a line because I’ve never said it out loud but it makes me so happy but I’m afraid of being sounding repulsive but I love it, fully believe it and think it the metric to operate from as a woman: Well-fed, well-rested, well-paid, well-fucked.

Now I’m here again. Making another website. And my only goal between me and me this summer, was to not make something new. Hahaha. Love that. But I haven’t and this time it’s different because I’m not sharing to help. My sharing does not come from this place wanting to of help. Ease emotional pain.

I just realized today, precisely today of all days, that there must be some Jesus complex for my need to always suss out how I can make people feel better about themselves. Which I don’t, make people feel better, not that type of person. But it’s *the pattern*, many decades strong, and it was just today that it sank in, or even listed itself as a possibility.

Derail but yeah. My place to share from now, is to express. I cannot not share. Then I’d die with that longing that feels so clear it feels like seeing my destiny retrospectively. I have nothing to sell or improve or nothing. No plan or purpose other that sharing what I love and what’s alive for me then and there. The only place I’m sharing from is sharing.

And I think that right there is the nostalgic hook to Tumblr 2011 and why I get the ick on IG where sharing seems to come from how to get seen and then it’s not you but a tactic or trend and unless it makes you feel something then fuck it.

Can you feel that too? That sharing becomes trite when the currency is eyeballs.

So fuck it. And that is no shade to any creator or person sharing, you’re doing the motion, you’re not the motion.

Things that’ll humble you real quick: micro bangs mornings, your son getting his ears pierced, realizing you’ll never be able to deliver on the level of coolness because MIA.