Sometimes giving up makes you feel worthless. You feel as though you've crawled through the desert and died of thirst fifty metres from an oasis. You feel weak and small and sad, faded, tired out, deflated like an empty balloon.
Sometimes giving up is a weight off your shoulders, a weight you were carrying all your life, that you never knew about. And suddenly it's gone, and you feel as though you should be flying upwards but instead you fall to your knees with relief, with joy.
Before you give up you never know which feeling it will be.
I'm about to give up.
I'm about to see.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
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