I never understood how to just begin. Something would bother me.

Something would make me worry about another thing that may or may not happen.

A lot of time passed.

These things converge; these things swarm.

These things stop other things from happening.

Lookers-on can’t see these things, but they’re inside.

We think about these things, and suddenly they have a lot more power, these things.

They swim around inside, and now we’re not sure where these things came from, but oh, they definitely might be, these things.

I read about other people’s things, and sometimes they write or they say to just do something. Many times they just go somewhere, even without leaving, and things happen for them. To them. It’s frustrating, not knowing how to do a thing.

Say a thing.

Write a thing.

Be a thing.

I know about some things, but I wonder if those things matter. Can I do something with those things? What will become of these things?

I’m not sure I need anything. I’m wondering if the things I’m doing will lead to other things.

What’s wrong?

Nothing.

Something must be wrong.

There isn’t anything wrong. That’s the thing, this idea of things. Anything can happen.

It probably already is.