Just Kristin

I have finally put my fin­ger on an ail­ment that, tho I am a suf­ferer, I didn’t truly under­stand until today. I have started so many journals/diaries/notebooks/blogs in my life that I had become com­fort­able blam­ing my lack of per­se­ver­ance on the need for instant grat­i­fi­ca­tion that *soci­ety* has taught me to value…blah blah blah. I have finally, how­ever, come to the con­clu­sion that it is rather a not-so-vicious cycle start­ing with an addic­tion to the tan­ta­liz­ing excite­ment and angst that the mere sight of a blank note­book causes in me. I pon­der and worry and plan and gen­er­ally beat any and all ideas to death before the great Ini­tial Deface­ment, after which noth­ing seems right — not the first entry, nor any­thing that may come after — and I give up. This con­firms my medi­oc­rity, prov­ing me right in my esti­ma­tion of myself, a com­fort­able feel­ing. Last comes the naive yet sweet hope that the next attempt will be dif­fer­ent, that some­how I will con­quer my own lack of moti­va­tion and dis­ci­pline and con­tinue mak­ing entries for longer than a week. How could I not be addicted to all this? Oh, well. This time it will be dif­fer­ent. This time I will stick to it…