It’s funny how the world works. Spirit is the most important, but then there are practicalities that you can’t do without. Like, my long nails (a practicality) are getting in the way of my comfortably typing (spirit).

I miss reading.

I want a natural transition.

Says the lazy man.

My father is obeses. He doesn’t know it.

Mom, I feel so sad when I’m around her, she makes me feel so sad for her. And she’s so stubborn, which then makes me angry. Like she doesn’t accept my love. What shit you want then? Leave! If there’s nothing I can give you. Jesus.

She is obsessed with travelling somewhere for vacation. I don’t give a flying shit, naturally, so it’s annoying when she pesters me with endless plans and doesn’t take action on any of them.

We’ve cancelled two destinations so far.

But that is small and unimportant.

Funny how small unimportant things can take up so much of your windshield, though.

I clipped my nails. The poison in my brain, I assume that’s what it is, negative neurotransmitters, or something, making me feel bad, is still there.

That I jump around from paragraph to paragraph so quickly should give you a clue into my psyche and the restlessness. The “akathisia”. Yeah. I can’t focus on things.

So much love and appreciation there is for focusing on things for the long run, though. And I am stolen of that.

It’s not fair.

Mom’s really starting to get on my nerves. Her voice is so annoying. Everything’s such belabored effort for her. It’s painful to watch. I don’t want that to be a part of my life. I don’t want her, if she’s acting like that, to be in my life. She just makes everything so hard.

Submitting poems to journals. I don’t know how many left.

Interesting things happen. I don’t note most of them.

It’s starting to get pointless.

This whole post was pointless.

I could and should write short stories about some of the interesting things that happen in my life.

But I won’t.

That’s the type of person I am.

I kill creativity and art before it even has a chance to sprout.

I’m a terrible creature.

I just want it easy.

For once.

It’s never easy.

Laziness is hard work.

You sit around being tortured by your own mind all day.

Laziness is not emptiness. It’s hard work. Harder than engagement, because engagement makes you feel good.

And yet we laud the engaged and punish the lazy. It’s backwards.

Just a thought.

Not “fuck you” this time I suppose.

I must grow up sooner or later.


That’s all.

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