"Maybe if I really try with all of my heart..."
The winter's coming. Fall's here, but winter seems to be on its way pretty quick.
I've devolved, I'm less interesting. I need to get back to a point where I'm someone I would want to spend time with. It's too much work, really. Too many late nights polishing glass and running food and asking Greeks if they understand that a steak cooked medium will be "Hot red in the middle, bright pink to the edges...does that sound right to you?"
I used to write, not a lot, not constantly, but I used to write. This is the most I've mustered since June. I'm tricking myself into reading again by reading horror, but I used to really read. The New Yorker subscription is on the way, so that will help too.
How do I get interested in myself again? And how do I keep the people I love interested in me?
I've devolved, I'm less interesting. I need to get back to a point where I'm someone I would want to spend time with. It's too much work, really. Too many late nights polishing glass and running food and asking Greeks if they understand that a steak cooked medium will be "Hot red in the middle, bright pink to the edges...does that sound right to you?"
I used to write, not a lot, not constantly, but I used to write. This is the most I've mustered since June. I'm tricking myself into reading again by reading horror, but I used to really read. The New Yorker subscription is on the way, so that will help too.
How do I get interested in myself again? And how do I keep the people I love interested in me?