Today I put together some bookshelves and then I figured out how to install new doorknobs. I was surprisingly adept at it, or maybe I shouldn't be surprised. Maybe I just didn't give myself enough credit before.
It's interesting to find out that you can do something you couldn't do before.
Like walking away without getting the last word. Walking away without fighting to the death. I used to want to try to force things- now I'm much more content to sit back and wait until things reach their logical conclusion, because things that need to be forced mean less than nothing to me.
I never used to understand how utterly worthless words are. It feels blasphemous to say, as a writer. Yet here I am, realizing that words have no inherent value. They take on meaning when there's a driving force behind them.
I like to think that my words have value, because I treat them as if they do, carefully choosing each one. They don't come spilling out of my mouth, and I mean what I say. It has little to do with wanting to be trustworthy or honest, and so much more to do with never wanting to realize that my words are completely devoid of any meaning or worth.
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