I feel so alone and like the work is never done. My room is never clean. The art never completely (completely, key word) gets hung on the walls. Maybe I do things part way, but I never finish projects.

It’s a really bad trait. Bad for my employability.

Not that I’m employable, needing a coffee every five minutes and not capable of doing things that I don’t feel like doing.

Argh. I don’t know.

I just want the medication to fix me. My brain is not in the right spot.

Blogging doesn’t help. It just makes me feel worse.


I loved working on the literary magazine the last few days.

But I don’t know. It’s just, that’s all. There’s not much to it.


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