Sometimes I need to slow down my fingers. They type too fast. My pointer, middle, ring, pinky and thumb work in tandem to express the thoughts that jump into my head. I don't need to look. I don't need to think. They just do the work alone it seems. They punch out the feelings and fly across the keyboard. They write.
Sometimes I need to slow down my fingers. I need to realize they actually don't work alone. I need to realize they connect to my wrist, my forearm, my elbow...all the way up to my brain. I need to realize that my fingers aren't actually thinking. My brain does that. But sometimes my emotions fog up the whole system and make things murky.
Sometimes I need to slow down my fingers. They get me into trouble. A flood of feeling washes away the wisdom that usually guides me. I don't think about the outcome of my words. I just type. I don't think about the chain of events that could happen. I just type. I don't think about the feelings I might hurt. I just type.
Thinking about the not-thinking of my fingers makes me realize that maybe I shouldn't slow down my fingers. They've got to type whatever they want to type. They've got to get down whatever they need to get down so it doesn't sit heavy in my brain, on my heart, within my gut. I've got to get onto the paper--or the screen--the stuff inside of me. The messy stuff. The private stuff. The stuff I'd much prefer to sweep under the rug but a part of me would know it's still there. I guess I can't slow down my fingers after all.
I just shouldn't hit send so fast.