How many bullet point lists can one person write? They always start off with a great intention:
- order my mind
- make me feel better
- demonstrate how much I have done
They always end up with scrunched shoulders and a twitch, of frustration not nerves:
- There’s no answers
- My life is complicated
- I can’t simplify it
- I’ve done nothing
Bullet points end in long rambling sentences full of screaming emotion and disjointed thoughts. The point is not longer there, in sight or other. My shoulders get higher and I can feel the knots tying in elaborate shapes, snaking across my neck and down my spine. Frustrated blots of unresolved conversations and endless sentences confined to the bullet, lost to the world.
If only I could turn the points into meaning and use them as a power to turn it all around. If only I could fire those bullets, one by one and watch them land. Making delightful holes in the problems I don’t really have.