I'm trying to taste my food: There is some time in between and I have a ton of papers to correct, but I don't want to do that. I get nervous when I get hungry and I've had too much coffee. I just ate a Fiber One fake brownie. Nobody's fooling me with this fiber packed 'brownie.' But what's a girl to do, I ate Thai food yesterday. I want something more, but I can't just go to the vending machine.
I can't prove I'm alive but I could see if they have a good salad in the cafeteria. Well the cafeteria is closed, the vending machine it is. I found some popcorn and chocolate. The chocolate is helping to calm me down.
I want to laugh because I don't know why I'm telling you the minute details of my life, I don't know if you really care. But maybe you can go this way with me for a minute, have you ever just felt blahhhh?
Yeah that is exactly how I feel. Like nothing real is happening, like nothing matters. It doesn't matter if I stop eating chocolate and become a thin person, I will still be complaining about the same shit.
I want to laugh because I don't know why I'm telling you the minute details of my life, I don't know if you really care. But maybe you can go this way with me for a minute, have you ever just felt blahhhh?
Yeah that is exactly how I feel. Like nothing real is happening, like nothing matters. It doesn't matter if I stop eating chocolate and become a thin person, I will still be complaining about the same shit.
Even though I'm a little stressed, the writing is helping me. So a midst all the chaos and annoyance, I'm really still doing fine.
Sometimes I think that writing is not real work, because I don't get paid for it yet. However, it may be my only real work. It is my solace, my inspiration, my love. I love writing more than I love thinking, and I love thinking.
I'm happiest when I'm writing consistently. I don't, but hope to from now on. So now it's Monday, I didn't write yesterday. Yesterday was kind of an off day.
I think it helps to live very deliberately and purposefully if you want to write. You have to be alive. And there are times I want to shut off in the middle of my life. Especially when things are not going right. I know I'm gonna die one day, but sometimes I want to pretend to do it now.
I don't usually write when things are not right. I didn't do the dishes yesterday coffee cups are strewn in the kitchen sink. My mother commented on how lazy I am. I still haven't done the dishes. I didn't do my laundry, I don't have any clean socks. I took a three hour nap. I didn't really pay attention to the Grammy's the way I wanted to and fell asleep on the couch.
These little annoyances add up and can create an unbearable existence, if you let them. Yet, even after feeling a little strange I didn't truly feel the Unbearable Lightness of Being, I didn't feel so bad I wanted to quit and just lay in my bed until something better happened.
Little things still make me happy. Intelligence makes me happy, I like having meaningful conversations with witty and smart people. I was texting in a group last night with two very funny friends.
I don't know, this is all over the place. I was thinking I had a point, and maybe the point is no point. This is a glimpse inside the mind of a writer. Trust me sometimes it is beautiful, sometimes it's real ugly. Sometimes, unfortunately it's boring as hell.
I don't know, sometimes I hate every word I write. It's true sometimes I hate myself. These words strung together seem like meaningless bullshit.
But this is my bullshit. I own it. I live it. In the end I better love it.
nina
Sometimes I think that writing is not real work, because I don't get paid for it yet. However, it may be my only real work. It is my solace, my inspiration, my love. I love writing more than I love thinking, and I love thinking.
I'm happiest when I'm writing consistently. I don't, but hope to from now on. So now it's Monday, I didn't write yesterday. Yesterday was kind of an off day.
I think it helps to live very deliberately and purposefully if you want to write. You have to be alive. And there are times I want to shut off in the middle of my life. Especially when things are not going right. I know I'm gonna die one day, but sometimes I want to pretend to do it now.
I don't usually write when things are not right. I didn't do the dishes yesterday coffee cups are strewn in the kitchen sink. My mother commented on how lazy I am. I still haven't done the dishes. I didn't do my laundry, I don't have any clean socks. I took a three hour nap. I didn't really pay attention to the Grammy's the way I wanted to and fell asleep on the couch.
These little annoyances add up and can create an unbearable existence, if you let them. Yet, even after feeling a little strange I didn't truly feel the Unbearable Lightness of Being, I didn't feel so bad I wanted to quit and just lay in my bed until something better happened.
Little things still make me happy. Intelligence makes me happy, I like having meaningful conversations with witty and smart people. I was texting in a group last night with two very funny friends.
I don't know, this is all over the place. I was thinking I had a point, and maybe the point is no point. This is a glimpse inside the mind of a writer. Trust me sometimes it is beautiful, sometimes it's real ugly. Sometimes, unfortunately it's boring as hell.
I don't know, sometimes I hate every word I write. It's true sometimes I hate myself. These words strung together seem like meaningless bullshit.
But this is my bullshit. I own it. I live it. In the end I better love it.
nina
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