Pondering, as always.

Dear World,

This will now be how I commence my blogs. I am writing to the universe. I am visiting family in the U.S. The CIA is spying on us as we speak, I’m sure. We are brown, after all, make no confusions. My uncle is watching tennis, and I am inspired to write the story of a single man in his 50’s, who lives very simply and watches tennis, and how tennis matches are the highlight of his life. And maybe he has unfulfilled dreams. There needs to be an edge. A plot as well. I’m terrible with plots. Or I’m great at them and haven’t discovered it yet. He finds a box full of cats on his doorstep one day. Yes, exciting! I would love to write ridiculous stories like that. I love being ridiculous. I want to write a children’s series called Wiggles the Dog. Or maybe just Wiggles. I should get on that. I need to read more, children’s literature and otherwise. i struggle to read. I struggle to do much. My biggest accomplishment this past year has been keeping myself alive. Yes, that is all. Well, I feel that’s a meager success, though it is monumental. I have recovered in many regards, from the dark. I’m not suicidal. That is winning news. It is, but how long can I celebrate that? I need to move onto greater things, like actually living life to the fullest. Sometimes full is small, perhaps. But how much am I limiting myself… it’s time for things to change. That I know. And they are changing, so maybe I need to do less than I think. I’m very adverse to the idea of learning to drive. Not in general, but for me. I don’t know why. I should get my license. My aunt referred to it as a life skill. Perhaps this is true. But… just do it. As Nike so infamously says. I am feeling peckish. I remember saying that to one of the nurses at the hospital. She was confused for a moment, but then came to. Peckish. Like a bird, desiring something it can peck at. Writer. Still have a fair few weeks until I find out about admission to the writing program. Dear me oh my. I really hope I get in. I wonder how many people do read my words. I wonder about the effect of me in the universe. In the multi-verses. I wonder about family. I wonder what they think of me. I am so quite. I ask few questions, give quick responses. Am polite but distant. I live in my world, they in theirs. NYC. I would like to explore it alone sometime. Or with good company. A full exploration. At least a week long. I should have just gone, sometime. I need to learn to save money so I can travel around. What would my family say if they knew? If they knew about the hospital. Oh well. Just finished dinner. I want to roll down a hill of cake. I wonder if I could write fiction. I want to be a person of importance in our society. I want to have some clout. I need to remember that I want things, that I have dreams. I need to turn my dreams into goals. That’s an essential part, I believe. Having active goals. I fear my family. I really do. I fear what they think. I can’t let this fear rule me. I am resentful of the anger I’ve grown up with. I can’t begin to describe what it’s done to me. But what was life and what was the bipolar? The question that I cannot seem to get rid of. I am.still so lost in that regard, in the ability to sort out what’s really happened to me and why they happened. Brain chemistry is too simple an answer, though it’s not simple at all. I want to sleep but it’s so early, its only ten. I have to pretend. I want to die still, sometimes, I think. Well, no, I just want to sleep. Very different urges, deepngs, but there is a grey area where they merge. And then there is just wanting the pain to stop. I am not in pain. I am in boredom.

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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