acquiescing to the demands that i write my first post already

Not that I don’t want to write my first post. I am simply saturated with fear that my musings won’t be good enough, or that they’ll sound too contrived. Which is rather silly because musings are supposed to evade evaluation. They are just supposed to flow out of you, effortlessly, and it’s not supposed to matter if they are nonsensical or unfunny or pretentious. It could be I made that up in an idealistic haze. The point is, I don’t think there is anything effortless about me. And I don’t mean effortless as in lazy, because I’m lazy as fuck. I mean that my thoughts, words, and actions are never not calculated. I’m not an evil mastermind, I just have anxiety. And maybe my anxiety makes me inauthentic, unable to be without deciding how to be first. I lust after a visceral existence; I want to be one of those people who are so fresh and real they remind you of sweet smelling soil. I want to express my raw, real identity through the highly sophisticated art form of blogging. The problem is I don’t have a raw, real identity, or if I do I don’t know what it is yet. And I’m just gonna have to suck that up.