Repetition is boring. Repetition is growth.

Ball, ball, ball, ball. Balls.

I don’t like to do things twice. I get bored after one and a half time. It’s my joy and my pain. Neoteny leads to discovery. I’d like to have an insatiable curiosity. But I get bored. It’s painful when I have to accept the compromise of my writing’s outcome. It’s just good enough. It’s decent, maybe acceptable, sometimes good. What if I reread it and revise it? Too much work. Or, better, it might not be too long but, it’s boring. That’s where my cognitive dissonance chimes in at its greatest. Me, wanting to be read, with interest, with passion, and with a following, but not wanting to do the work needed to create such artifact. I am not unaware. I know the cure. To fine-tune a workflow, a method. Just write and rewrite. It’s that rewrite that really puts me in a difficult place—reading again, words vomited in a flow, almost unconsciously. So spontaneously spit. Who am I to revise what I have written? What right do I have to change the immediacy’s shape? If only I could develop more patience to take more care in words I am regurgitating, what would the noosphere reserve to me?

I can only dream about it.

Today, for sure, because I am not going to reread this piece.

Take this Grammarly!

Ball, ball, ball, ball. Balls.
Ball, ball, ball, ball. Balls.

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