Practice your talents everyday. I need to get on that. I’m back in Vancouver. I’m tired all the time. I’m unemployed. That will change. Positivity. Keep writing. I want a hamster. How to do this without any funds, I am unsure. Kijiji, I suppose. Okay, write everyday. Write about… do I really want to be a writer? What do I want? I miss acting right now. Though, I’m glad I left school for it. I can always return if i want to. I need mentorship. I need to connect with my inner fire. I want some ginger tea. My family and i are sitting quietly together. I am typing and no one speaks, but not in a tense way. I have missed the silent company of others. I want a bus pass. They are expensive. I love writing about the mundane. The mundane can be extraordinary, but how to make it as such? View it through the eyes of a child. I should write stories. Perhaps. The world seems to be divided into artists and the rest of the world. We’re an odd breed. We see what the rest of the world doesn’t see, and speak what is unspoken. Or we reveal what’s blatantly obvious, but in a such a way that it isn’t obvious at all. I don’t know. I have a sore throat. Things are easier now. I am not fighting everyday. But I don’t feel comfortable in my skin. I don’t like anything I wear. I don’t like my face, my hair. I don’t like how it sits. I feel too wide. Too round. I want to recommence writing poems. I want to recommence living. And reading. I can’t finish a book. I don’t know why. Ooo, i had a strange dream. I was living in a luxury loft and was going out of control, wrecking things and falling into these rages. I had to be tranquilized at one point and was given an injection. It felt like death, the weariness. And I was speaking very poor French at one point. And I felt so apart from everyone else around me. I was living in my own torment. It was deeply unpleasant. Writing is like being with a friend. A mirror of myself, to quench my unending thirst for company, true company. 

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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