just a thought.

I am lost.  I want to write or sleep.   I wish I could write while I sleep.  I wish my dreaming hand would scrawl notes for me to read once I wake. 

In a little more than three weeks, I have written 34,629 words of whining.  That is something.  I can write.  I must write something that does not ramble or whine.  The pain must be palpable, but sprinkled with adventure, mystery, happiness, mishap and love.  

I miss her.  I feel a piece of me is missing.  I want to be able to think of her and smile, but I still can’t. 

I have been lonely, sad and lost these past months.  Maybe I should dance.  Maybe I should find a new song to dance to. 

How long is the death of a pet supposed to torment you?  I think I must be over the allotted time.

I am sad.  I am doing well, but I am sad.  I am trying to be happy, but when I don’t mind what I’m going to type, sadness comes out. 

One of the truest loves I have known is no longer here to comfort me.  I am lonely.  And sad.  And scared.  And scarred.

Inactivity and introspection may well have ruined my life.  

I needed to realize the source of my unhappiness and embrace it once more.  Perhaps every month I will be so upset by this dark anniversary.  

I am browsing movies.  Such are the actions of an unencumbered mind. 

Today was a win.  Even though I slept in and was drenched with rain, today was a win.

I danced and I am happy.

I don’t want to be a hypocrite, but I fear being viewed as insane.  I don’t want what I’m supposed to want.  I only want things that are completely ridiculous, or so I’m told.

If I were to live as my authentic self, how I feel is right, I could not look normal.  I could not be a slave to fashion.  I am, now.  I feel I have nothing to wear because I have nothing that matches the expectations of this season’s trends.

I want to live without excess, without materialism.  I want to live a life free of consumerism, but somehow the only methods I can come up with are capitalistic.

How can an artist live authentically without starving on the streets?  How can one acquire supplies without selling out? 

When I am here, I am surrounded by decaying materialism.  Junk piled, junk molding, consumerism gone awry.  A demonstration of excess.