5:00PM
I feel sweaty.
I feel grateful that I feel sweaty two times in the same day, putting my body into motion.
I feel a bit playful and hopeful to try this format, which I’ve used in other writings over the years.
I feel a bit unsure how people will respond to me changing the format.
I feel really proud that not only have I improved my basketball shot with my right hand, but because I was forming a blister on my index finger, I practiced the left hand today and it became more fluid than I can ever remember.
I feel a bit frustrated that I’m sweating on the keyboard—I try my best to keep this thing clean.
I shake my head at thinking that I’ll be writing in this format for another almost 8 minutes.
I feel thirsty.
I feel glad that I got a drink of water to bring here.
I feel a bit torn whether to pause typing to drink the water or to just tough it out until the 10 minutes are up.
Goodness, I feel surprised and a bit overwhelmed that I still have 7 minutes left of this.
I feel slightly out of breath, and yet grateful to breathe in deeply.
I feel still worried about the sweat building on the palms of my hands and transferring to the keyboard.
I feel proud when I look to the right and see the logo designs I’ve doodled.
I feel so much more free when I think about writing in this format than trying to string it all together in perfectly coherent sentences.
I feel also proud that I’m able to articulate emotions so quickly.
I feel unsure how precise these words are in describing the emotions I’m feeling at the moment and graceful when I think about how it is darn near impossible to precisely describe a feeling with words.
I feel tired of typing so much about how I feel and realize there’s still 5 minutes left.
I feel a bit embarrassed by how disorganized the desk is, with headphones here, old clothes there, doodles, I think some medical bills, and definitely a few old beer cans.
However, I feel grateful that it’s not clean. For some reason, I like having a few things on the table to keep me company.
I laugh a bit thinking about how I wish the whole book were like this, and yet I also feel pretty confident people wouldn’t want to read 200 pages me of just saying directly how I feel.
I hesitate, as I feel unsure about that. I really don’t know what people will feel reading this.
I feel somewhat exhausted, as my body sinks in after playing basketball for probably 2 or 3 hours today.
I feel a little itchy—turns out sweat can make the clothes stick and the body itch.
I feel slightly exposed saying so much of this, thinking about how this will actually be in the book and there’s no way out of it.
I laugh and smile—life is life, it’s OK.
I feel a pain push through the top left part of my face, maybe my head relaxing or stressing from trying to write while wanting to just chill.
I feel self-conscious and worried about how many words I’ve written and how it may be too many for this entry.
I feel courageous to pause, to not rush through this moment.
I feel distracted by the timer, or by my desire for this to end.
I feel somehow comforted by the squeaks of the floor above—I’m not alone.
I feel a strange sense of accomplishment—I didn’t “do much” today but perhaps the basketball playing made the body feel worthwhile.
I feel grateful this is done.
5:10PM
