For the first time in my soon-ending teen life, I find myself avoiding the computer. I know that if I were to allow myself to waste away the usual hours with my beloved MacBook, eventually I would have to make up for all that unproductive time with some quality prose. Writing has always been my escape, my therapy, and for that reason I have been avoiding it. But every time I put fingers to keypad, I know what I must do: I have to write about what I did.
This is not as easy as it sounds. For telling the whole world what I did by word-of-mouth is something else entirely then coming to terms with my own feelings about it. People do it all the time, I tell myself. You’re not a bad PERSON, you just did a bad THING. I push the angel off my shoulder and hear what the devil has to say: He would never do anything to hurt you, devil-me hisses in my ear. He loves you unconditionally and would do anything for you. And this is how you show your love?
Should I really listen to that devil? Isn’t that who convinced me to do what I did, with the help of a few shots of rum and a couple of beers? Why can’t I come to terms with this? This must be the way everyone else feels when they do this, right?
It seems I was wrong: a month isn’t enough time. I guess my computer will go unused a little longer.