I set out into the crisp afternoon in search of a turkey lunchable. The first store I tried had only the ham and pizza varieties, lesser gods. i pressed on to the next where i found my treasure, along with a 4-pack of glittering macarons, 2 raspberry and 2 vanilla, a coconut water to wet the spread. I insinuated myself into the mass migration of the university passing period to find an adequate spot to savor my spoils. Briefly i strode alongside someone hurrying to their destination with their own turkey lunchable open in hand.

I spotted a soft cushioned seat, half-bathed in a wash of blinding sun. I claimed the spot and stuck my legs in the sun patch to warm them. With my shaded half I stacked cracker, turkey, cheese and relished each construction, delighted in the familiar simplicity. I cherished my macarons, held each up to the light and like a jeweler inspected its properties. I took some photos which ultimately failed to capture their darling splendor. I thought of Pretty Patties and smiled.

I listened to comforting, nostalgic music. Right There by Ariana Grande feat. Big Sean if you want to know. She was so young and green when she made that record. I was even younger, greener. A simpler time, to be sure. A better time? Decidedly not. I let the patch of sun creep past my legs until it overtook the whole of me and i squinted in the light. Full and warm, I walked back to the office. My hour was up.

I am an admirer of writers. An appreciator of the written word, the turn of phrase, the rhetorical device. I myself am not a writer. At least that's what I've been telling myself.

What I think I do is incessantly and clumsily explore my own interiority by way of brain dumps and journal entries. I let the words flow to remind myself I am alive and I am real. That I am a fully fleshed human being and not a mere facsimile. I write to remind myself of that, though I'm not always convinced.

For a while I wrote only when I was in distress. I'd pick up my journal after some time to see what was there and be mortified. I'd staple the pages shut so I could continue to use the journal without those embarrassing reminders. Sometime's I'd scribble over what I'd written to make sure it could in no uncertain terms ever be read again.

Now, I keep a semi-regular, semi-public journal here on neocities. It helps me pass the time and make sense of my thoughts. It's a place where I can immortalize the minutiae of my life, document the big and small, and let ideas flow mostly without judgement. That last part's the hardest. I am often paralyzed by my auto-judgement. Auto as in self of course as well as in -matic. Too often I stop myself before I can even begin, embarrassed that I even tried.

This is what I'm here to overcome. I've made good progress since I've begun working on this site. Now, I'd like to take my writing beyond the automatic, beyond the stream of consciousness and into the focused intentional. Anything worth doing is worth doing halfway and worth doing badly. Remembering and internalizing those words is the main reason this site even exists.

I am more capable than I thought I was and I am more capable still than that. There are levels of awareness waiting for me I haven't begun to fathom much less access.

My ultimate goal with joining this writing club is to move from observing myself to observing the world around me. With time, effort, and focused contemplation I hope to have something worthwhile to say. If you're reading this, I thank you for joining me in this endeavor. I'm excited to see what you all have to say!