My mother, what does she really want?
Me to feel alright?
Me to be alright?
Or something else? Something more selfish?
This thought, does it hurt her?
She thinks it does.
But thoughts don’t hurt people.
Is she paranoid, too?
She believes things which aren’t true, but not to the point of mental illness.
She just believes in like spirits and sutff.
Do I have to be careful now?
I need to trim my nails.
WiFi is working a little better than this morning. It was acting up. I mean, it still is, but not as bad.
I slouch when I’m at the computer. It scares me that I’ll get scholiosis.
Mom’s out. She picked up some of my pills, and is at a department store (is that the right word?) or a WalMart to look for halloween decorations. She needs a scare crow.
For the house.
What is the purpose of life.
I’ve been given a good jumping off point, here.
I feel alright. This is an okay place to start.
But I need to go somewhere.
Even if it isn’t my career.
Somewhere. I need a purpose.