A Rightly Timed Pause

That impressive silence, that eloquent silence, that geometrically progressive silence which often achieves a desired effect where no combination of words howsoever felicitous could accomplish it…. For one audience, the pause will be short; for another a little longer; for another a shade longer still; the performer must vary the length of the pause to suit the shades of difference between audiences. … I used to play with the pause as other children play with a toy.

– Mark Twain (An asshole who hated Jane Austen but a fitting statement nonetheless)

Let’s say that the past month and change was simply a P A U S E for this blog.

I so hate the word blog and not just because I’d like to think I’m interesting enough to avoid having a blog (this blog is only slightly less embarrassing than my high school/college blog that was inundated with bad poetry and great photography) but also because this blog is just a prettier version of a livejournal. Look, what I’m saying is I hate handwriting my thoughts and typing them here is easier for me and if you choose to read it then that’s on you pal.

THIS JUST IN: Millenials have ruined blogs by turning them into vomit inducing communities where questionable craft instructions and medical advice are doled out. Also we have feelings that we need to be validated by views.

But hi, hello, and welcome.

Since we’ve talked last I got in a bad car accident (got a cool new scar), ended my clerkship, studied for and took another bar exam, got a new job, moved away, and flushed the jar of hoarded pills.

Last year I cleaned out my mom’s medicine cabinet and found expired, albeit still likely dangerous, pills meant to ease pain from sickness and surgeries and threw most of them out but kept what felt like “enough” in a jar and hid in the depths of my bathroom drawers and never, ever told anyone about them.

I forgot about them 99% of the time. I hadn’t thought about them in so long but when I was cleaning out under my sink to pack for this new job and this new chapter I found them and I stared at them. I actually thanked them for being there because if they weren’t there then there’s a chance I wouldn’t have been there either. I’d put them there initially as an escape route, just in case. But I never needed it.

I screwed off the lid and poured them in the toilet and let that shit go.

I’m not better or happier or more willing to live because I have a new job or because I moved or because I apparently have 9 damn lives. I’m not even sure if people get “better” but I am sure that I don’t need an escape hatch. I don’t want to have a way out.

I don’t want to escape and I’m proud of that.

I promise not to keep you waiting this long again, after all, we have so much to catch up on. I just wanted you to know about long shots and little victories.

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