2/9/26
There is a threshold, right around the time the kids go to bed, where I find I will or won’t write for the day. I like to call in the sleeping undertow. As I inch nearer to being able to let the day slough off me, the further I feel my creative ship drifting from its harbor.
I usually realize a few minutes after it’s too late. Or, the morning after. It doesn’t bother me in the way it used to—mostly since this whole project has been more of a creative unblocking. In the midst and immediate after effects of COVID this was an escape. It became an escape in the small confines of the day. And with it brought a different sense of interaction with the world. It became a daily game of finding the gem to write down, even if it was in the middle of the day. And with it came little doodles and cover artwork—most of which took longer than the post to write.
Now I feel this is a safe space to return to. I can chronicle my thoughts in a public semi-anonymous state and let the words flow. There is no rewriting here, save for the occasional in-the-moment word swapping. There is seldom even a situation where I’ll reread what I just wrote.
And that is me, and this is me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want this to be successful. I think it is more the reality of building out a defense plan for disappointment, or realistic expectations: at least it’s a piece of me that I’ll leave on the page for my family.
Much love,
- E.B.
Ed Boy 