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.