please keep coming back. i have so many things in draft. starts of short stories. starts of whines and laments. starts of fantastical whimseys (whimsys?). starts of political talks. starts of letters. starts of all sorts of things.
turns out once i started to make this more official, i couldn’t do anything or go anywhere. maybe that’s okay, because i’m sure it’s saved me from many a late-night heartache confessional that i would have potentially regretted. okay, that i definitely would have regretted.
anyway, it’s been eight days since i published something and it’s making me anxious. i am always having these great ideas for books and movies and all of this sort of stuff and i just feel all stuck. i think these crazy thoughts like if i had all this money i could get stuff done like hire a personal secretary to clean my room or type my old journals or hell, even clean my bathroom or my laundry or something like that. help me clear my outsides to help clear my mind.
whatever. it’s all a bunch of crap. i’m filled with existential angst. too fucking bad. get up. go to work. get it done. and do it again. that’s the deal. and hang on until the sun comes back. maybe i really should move to california. maybe it would shake something loose in me. i just don’t feel like i can do that right now. i need to be near my parents.
so. that’s that. please keep coming back. i know i will. it’s all i know how to do.