Feeling: spiky
Listening to: Belle and Sebastian - Judy and the Dream of Horses
Reading/Watching: Anne of Green Gables

Ever read back over something you wrote long ago, and feel intimidated by the strength and certainty of your own words?

I remember back when I was so certain of how my future would unravel, so certain of what I used to be, and what contributed to who I was, and how in the end I was about 90% wrong in all my hypotheses. How I fell short of my own standards in the long run.

Because looking back now, I was just as scared, just as insecure, just as ugly and small and gray. I just had better words for it, words with more fight to them. Now I'm still small and gray, but I recognize it as such. And I'm too self-aware to pretend I know what's coming, so I just sharpen my edges, preparing for the moment when someone steps on me, so that at least I can retaliate with pinpricks.

Before, I would have believed that by now I'd be capable of growing to full height, brandishing weapons of my own. But in the end I barely have the strength to hold a shield.

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