PINKBUNNIESLIPPERS

I fret. I worry. I backtrack and replay decisions I make. I should make them and then breath a sigh of relief. But sometimes a decision brings a whole gaggle of more decisions to be made.
I love to write but worry what I will say. Once written I worry it was not written well. I doubt my ability to truely craft a story with my own imagination or memory.
Reading other blogs is a curse and a blessing. I can see the rope someone is throwing out there telling their story. Their world, their day, their hopes and dreams. I see their rope and hold on until it takes me where I should go. Their description sends me to their world for a moment then softly swinging back to mine. Then it turns to become a mirror I always look in and look ugly. Instead of just sharing I think my humor didn't show up or my lack of grammatical correction took a nose dive. My words suddenly remind me of an awkward teenager with braces, coke bottle glassses and a bad case of acne.
Still, somewhere in this space between the letters my heart is beating. Hear it?