ruffled feathers on a monday, monday
I just don't know what to type. I actually wrote in my hand-written journal today. I also produced a poem. Not bad, not bad. No, I'm not referring to the quality of the poem; which, for the record, is quite tragic. I shouldn't be allowed to create, for I am overly sentimental in everything I do.
Currently, I am engaged in conversation with a ghost of the past. Why do I refer to so many friends as ghosts? Maybe I'm the ghost in their lives. Who knows...Dalton Ames...
I've been trying to rebroaden my musical tastes and abilities. I need to break free of this Smiths-Floyd-Young trifecta. I mean, sure, it was great while it lasted, but it is time to move on.
That reminds me, I haven't read my horoscope today....and we may lose the house...
There's always so much to say, so much to do; why is it that I never feel prepared or even adequate enough as a person to handle it?
Perhaps I am too hard on myself; or, perhaps, you've grown even more complacent than I have. You know who you arn't.
Currently, I am engaged in conversation with a ghost of the past. Why do I refer to so many friends as ghosts? Maybe I'm the ghost in their lives. Who knows...Dalton Ames...
I've been trying to rebroaden my musical tastes and abilities. I need to break free of this Smiths-Floyd-Young trifecta. I mean, sure, it was great while it lasted, but it is time to move on.
That reminds me, I haven't read my horoscope today....and we may lose the house...
There's always so much to say, so much to do; why is it that I never feel prepared or even adequate enough as a person to handle it?
Perhaps I am too hard on myself; or, perhaps, you've grown even more complacent than I have. You know who you arn't.