Very wrong and my vise is slipping because of it. This wrong goes beyond the panic of unfinished errands.
I've started to remember the reverse writing from a while back. The image of my hand moving across the page. The feel of something, some part that hasn't come out before and just how important that part was. I was panicked and excited and stuffed it back down immediately - and it this moment, this breach that has me thinking about what edge I need to walk... what functions I can't have and still achieve something-- no not something: the thing. Start being fucking honest with myself. The thing I could achieve.
It's a brink, a teeter. Sometimes I'm headed with full kinetic force towards the thing. But other times the mere thought of grander aspiration feels shameful. It's the logistics, the lack of drive, thats what makes it so far away. It's what makes me feel foolish for believing.
If I'm ever going to make it, I'd better have a long life.