Missing
I feel like I'm missing something, but what? Sometimes I think it's just my life. That I'm missing my life. Which is, of course, ridiculous, seeing as I'm sitting here writing in this journal, complaining about missing something I obviously have.
I miss the things that make up my life. I'm trying to substitute odds and ends for the real thing, but no matter how I try, they come up short.
I have another blog. A public one, where I try to write about things and sound interesting and funny and worth reading. I don't think I'm doing a very good job. I have a hard time being me there, out in the open. Unlike here, where I can be unabashedly depressing if I want to be. I don't have to worry about people asking me if I'm okay, or telling me things will get better and all that nonsense. Well, of course things will get better and of course I'll be fine. But how does that help me feel any better right now?
So I write about anime, and try to write short fiction, and whatever else I can think of that I can feel okay about showing the public. All of them odds and ends; none of them are real.
So what's my story? What's really my story? What's in my head? What's my life? I don't know. I think I lost it somewhere. Missing: one life. If found, try not to screw it up too badly.
I miss the things that make up my life. I'm trying to substitute odds and ends for the real thing, but no matter how I try, they come up short.
I have another blog. A public one, where I try to write about things and sound interesting and funny and worth reading. I don't think I'm doing a very good job. I have a hard time being me there, out in the open. Unlike here, where I can be unabashedly depressing if I want to be. I don't have to worry about people asking me if I'm okay, or telling me things will get better and all that nonsense. Well, of course things will get better and of course I'll be fine. But how does that help me feel any better right now?
So I write about anime, and try to write short fiction, and whatever else I can think of that I can feel okay about showing the public. All of them odds and ends; none of them are real.
So what's my story? What's really my story? What's in my head? What's my life? I don't know. I think I lost it somewhere. Missing: one life. If found, try not to screw it up too badly.