It's the best way I know how to communicate. Enjoy a treat from my diary to you. Maybe you could even partake in the unraveling of the mess of life I make and push me to spring clean my head.
So far I get that I am extremely dramatic drama mama. It is either cold or hot but never warm. I thought that in writing, the plot must be thickened in order for readers to stop for a moment to absorb a piece of my thoughts. Perhaps I am trapped in my storybook life that is much more interesting than a self depressing martyr who waits for life to happen and does nothing to kick start the movement, but insists on writing about how there should be movement. Wah wah fucking wah.
When will I grow some balls? Just because I surround myself with movement doesn't make me a mover. And moving for 1 week does not uphold against the 3 weeks wishing I had kept moving.
Am I moving yet? No. I am still writing. SHIT SHIT SHIT!
I am reluctant to set up goals because goals have been insignificant due to the over use of writing them and forgetting about them. I should set some permanent goals in permanent ink on my wall in my room and see how that works for me. But then I will want to change directions a week later and the permanent ink will mock me and remind me how consistently unstable this head on my shoulders is. Then I will avoid my room because I am too embarrassed to show myself in front of the goals and then I will do my best to pretend I never wrote them. Going out of my way has become a lot more work than actually fulfilling my goals. What the hell is wrong with me?
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