The Blur started long before COVID crept out of China and held us all hostage.
At first, everything was a blur. Childhood is barely distinguishable. High school was a drag, but even that’s a confusing blur now.
University seems like a whole different life now, and a very blurry one at that.
When we got locked in last April, it was no longer possible to hide from The Blur, although it had been creeping up on me for a while.
Looking back over the last 11,000-odd days of existence, it was clear that there was nothing that I could say I did with any real consistency.
Nothing worthwhile, at least.
I cried that night. Soon after, I began to do what I always knew I should have been doing: I started to write every day.
At some point, the days I’ve written will outnumber the days I’ve done anything else.
Then, looking back at that blur, I’ll know: I was a writer.