So, I've been asked as of late to provide (against my will, mind you) samples of my "writing". Well, I don't write much anymore. I gave it up out of pure frustration and the feeling of bashing my head against a wall to come up with something pithy, on point, and original.
But nothing is actually original anymore, is it? Save for our own experiences..yet even then, those experiences are shared with other people. Yes, they have their own views and its filtered through a life lens (as they say in therapy) that is often far different than your own, but the experience never belongs to any single entity.
Which I suppose can be a comforting thought. To know that regardless of age, experience level, financial situation, etc..we're all one in that we're not alone..but we're allowed our individualism through our own lens; our own point of view.
You see the world in yellow and gold, the next person mauve and taupe, and a certain someone in a rainbow of glitter.
As for myself?
Brilliant shades of green, filtered through a kaleidoscope of sensations, ruminations, and light coating of despair for good measure.
We are all of us cast in a wide net.
You take a step. Then another, and another until your foot falls through and tangles itself in the fine lines of life you were simply trying to navigate unscathed. Well..tough luck
Life doesn't work that way.
So off we go into the quagmire.
Originality be damned.
