And yet, all I do is wait. Wait for the perfect circumstances. Wait for the most ideal conditions. Wait for myself to get out of my own way. But the time for waiting is past. Now I need to shove myself out of the way. Claw out what I can from whatever circumstances the moment offers. Steal all I can from any slither of even the most inconvenient conditions. I am done wasting time. Precious time. I’m not going to spend another year not doing the shit I say I’m going to do. I want to write. To sew. To speak another language. I need to start now. There’s no such thing as the perfect moment. Fuck my perfectionism. To hell with it. It’s useless folly and procrastination. Just do the things.