I don’t know what to do. I want to do nothing but I can’t do anything but write so let’s keep writing.

Panic. It’s nothing but panic. It’s just panic. That like, huffing in your mind, the expansive viewpoint, see your life, inhaling, it’s panic. I shouldn’t overcomplicate it. I’m panicking.

So then things like breathing and mindfulness should work.

I know how to do that.

Sort of.

I mean I know how to, I didn’t say I was well-practiced.

It’s like. My gripes comes from a very abstract line. I’m trying to explain something very abstract, the reason for my misery.

It’s hard to explain, like all abstract things.

It sort of goes like this. And I will make mistakes in this description. But anyway.

:

I come from a place. This place had resources, people, programs, situations, habits, good things I was engaged in.

And now, I’m not complaining about bad situation now just out of the blue.

Those two thoughts, juxtaposed against each other.

They grind.

And I feel like shit.

I went for a walk.

Sir Hikaru Nakamura’s inspiration at work.

I have to fill out some health insurance form to reinstate it or something.

English is such an awkward language.

Why it bothers me as much as it does I don’t know though.

Hypothesis: I don’t read regularly and expand my vocabulary, so the same grammatical syntax structures and verbiage grind me down mentally.

Hmm.

Mom thinks reading is useless.

But I think it’s healthy.

I texted my brother asking how he’s doing, updating him on my end.

I’m at a loss for words. If you couldn’t tell, I always am.

I just want to meet some fun people to spend time with.

What do I do where do I go to fulfill that desire?

Eh.

Let it happen.

THIS BLOG POST IS SHIT

FUCK IT TO DIRT AND BACK

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