Facebook is my lifeblood, I am mildly ashamed to say. I’m not alone in that, I’m sure, but I dislike the fact that this is where most of my socializing occurs. It’s been like this too long. I’ve spent ten years like this, and I’ll not do another ten more as such. Alone, except for bursts of friendships or boyfriends. Not to devalue either, but it’s not enough to sustain a healthy wholesome being. My dad said that it’s not so much doing what you love in life but finding a good philosophy to live by. That makes sense to me. I’ve lived with the philosophy of “Follow your dreams!” and only that for much of my life, and that’s lead me to interesting places, but I need something new now. I need something that makes the quotidian easier. I need to go towards the pain. Towards the abyss, and shine light into it so I see that’s not as deep as I make it out to be. There are no sharks. Just me.
It’s tiring though, being hopeful. I can’t get up before noon. I spent most of my time alone. Such is life as a writer? Maybe this is all I’ve wanted, manifesting. Time to write. Time and time and time to just write. As if I could stop. But I’m suffering from some sort of paralysis of responsibility. That’s where the discipline comes in. I’m struggling. I need to honour that. I need to allow that to be, while also honouring that I’m doing better in many regards. But I’m not. But I am. Where am I? I’m unsure. I want to get somewhere with my life. I don’t know how to move forwad.