Writer? I Hardly Know Her!

I wanted to mention that I'm finally editing my book. I just dread it until I finally sit down to do it and get in the zone and then it's fun. It's so silly. I can't wait until it's done though. It's gonna take longer to edit then I thought, and then I have to copyright it, and then I gotta publish it, and then I finally get to write some more. I love doing things my own way the whole way through: knitting with no pattern, publishing my own book, learning code for free online. I'm just getting started with my passions and my dreams. I hope my future is as bright as I dream it is. I hope things get better. I hope I can follow through with everything and become a better version of myself. A happier one.

I never liked the quiet. I mean, obviously I like the quiet to an extent. It means peace, less stress. There's more room for you to exist in your own quiet bubble, doing your own thing. But sometimes . . .  Sometimes the quiet, the dead silence, is so loud. I can physically hear it. It sounds fizzy, almost like the buzz of electricity when I sit too close to the power strip or turn on the old lamp in my room. Sometimes the quiet is so loud it hurts my ears a little. My mind tends to talk a lot, although it's been a little quieter in the last year. It sometimes takes the silence as an invitation to talk on and on and on. It often drives me crazy, but there are also times I just go about my day, doing my own thing while they chatter in the background. On occasion I'll catch a sentence and ponder on what it means, meanwhile the voices have gone silent. I'm not a fan of noise more than a few hours a day, but I also don't feel calm in lonely silence.