(no subject)
I'm not sure why I update here, anymore. I learn nothing by
simply getting my thoughts down on a screen. The last post was so
full of contradiction, that I'm not sure what I was thinking,
now. I didn't pull anything from it, other than my parents like
to charge me to waste my summer.
That's not new news.
I don't feel any better about anything after I get it out, on here, so why continue? These feelings seemingly simmer in their own filth until I work something out on my own. Perhaps, I should move on to my real journal, but I'm terrified of wasting those precious pages.
My real journal is blank, and it says a lot more about me than this does.
Why should such a void of words speak in such fluency about how I live, think, and work?
Maybe we're only really living, if we don't have the time to write our life down in a journal.
My journal is a sham.
That's not new news.
I don't feel any better about anything after I get it out, on here, so why continue? These feelings seemingly simmer in their own filth until I work something out on my own. Perhaps, I should move on to my real journal, but I'm terrified of wasting those precious pages.
My real journal is blank, and it says a lot more about me than this does.
Why should such a void of words speak in such fluency about how I live, think, and work?
Maybe we're only really living, if we don't have the time to write our life down in a journal.
My journal is a sham.