(no subject)
I wonder why I don't enjoy writing anymore. It all feels rather contrived and false. It doesn't really make me happy any more.
I think I ought to try doing it for myself again.
But it doesn't make me happy anymore. I think. I used to write and imagine and dream a lot of things. Now all I want is a new car and a vacation home somewhere special. Is this part of growing up? I almost dislike it, with a small part of what's left from before.
PS- If I ever write anything worthwhile, I'm going to title it early grey tea. I like that.
I think I ought to try doing it for myself again.
But it doesn't make me happy anymore. I think. I used to write and imagine and dream a lot of things. Now all I want is a new car and a vacation home somewhere special. Is this part of growing up? I almost dislike it, with a small part of what's left from before.
PS- If I ever write anything worthwhile, I'm going to title it early grey tea. I like that.