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As I sit here pondering the keystrokes I will make in this upcoming essay, I cannot help but be taken aback at how forgetful we can all be.

One small thing put away or ignored can escalate into something huge, just like that.

Other times, constant vigilance over the smallest of perturbations in life’s flow are seen as anything but in the scope of what is considered a valuable use of time.

What am I getting at?

Being obsessive compulsive is a bitch.

Every flaw, every error, every mistake. 

Every deviation from a plan is seen as a flaw in the design of being human.

Every moment, thereafter, being the setting for causing our very next demise.

Every moment, unfolding into a series of possibilities and complexities to choose from.

Just go with your gut.

But what if your gut is to not trust your gut?

What if you’ve been trained to think your gut instinct isn’t acceptable?

How does one escape the entrapments of overprocessing their next steps without embracing being a fool in their current missteps?

Better yet. 

How does one not fixate on a problem external to them when, internally, everything is a mess?

There’s gotta be a better way to clean the house so everything doesn’t become a mess everyday.

Then again. 

There’s gotta be a better way to live in a house than to leave a mess wherever you walk.