It’s not “When does this stop?” – it’s “When will I start?”

<p value="<amp-fit-text layout="fixed-height" min-font-size="6" max-font-size="72" height="80">It’s been a while, too long yet again, since I’d taken the time out of my day to sit to write a bit. What’s well-meaningness without followthrough? Intent without completion doesn’t really stand for much – “Oh, well, I’ve been saying I was gonna, and I was gonna, but, umm…”It’s been a while, too long yet again, since I’d taken the time out of my day to sit to write a bit. What’s well-meaningness without followthrough? Intent without completion doesn’t really stand for much – “Oh, well, I’ve been saying I was gonna, and I was gonna, but, umm…”

Sometimes you just power thru things because you need to. Sometimes you procrastinate. Then you procrastinate more. Then the intent fades and morphs to something discarded. An idea dissipated into nothingness, like fog on the surface of a lake or smoke into a breeze.

Anxiety’s been on the climb again, so I against my better judgment, I wait. I wait for an opportunity to sit with my thoughts in a way that compels me to translate these images that loiter in my head into something tangible – on a screen or otherwise. It all begins somewhere, sometime.

Verbalizing things brings some peace in mind when I’m able to part with a piece of mind. Ideally, speech designed to reach into the intimate moments of heights and the lowness of a steep decline. Catharsis in the beauty of fruition – that climactic moment where I reach the intended peak and no ideation of weakness held onto.

There I go, getting overly wordy for the simple fact I haven’t gotten a word typed in months. Nothing exceeds like excess – nothing breeds contempt like self sabotage.

Onto the visuals.