Write everyday. That’s what I want to do. And write of great quantity and quality. How do I do this? Baby steps, I’m sure. I’ve said everything I’ve wanted to say, it seems. I have let this blog down. I have let myself down, as I so often do. I ate some white cheddar, kettle corn popcorn, and have come to regret it. I regret most of what I eat. I regret most of what I do, and don’t do. I live in a world of regret and resentment towards myself. I think many of us do. I want to feel cleansed. I want to feel valuable again. I have become my own worst nightmare. Perhaps I’m gravitating towards getting a hamster because I’ve more or less become one. Sleeping most of my life, eating, running on my mundane wheel, and occasionally, grooming myself. Damn, they’re cute. Guinea pigs are cool too. I should write letters. Start writing letters to people again. Write to no one.Write to myself. I don’t think I could kill myself. The allure of falling into a fatal sleep is really romantic, but the reality of envisioning my organs slowly shutting down and the various physiological stages of death are terrifying and unwanted. I don’t want to pass out due to blood loss, or drown, or break my neck, or whatever else may be. I want to let go of my false dreams. My visions of being thin and wealthy one day. Those don’t matter. Health and responsible money habits matter, but outside of that it’s all just bullshit. I just want to share what I have to say, and be confident in my voice. I feel something waking up in me today. A little bit of peace and light. I don’t know why. How does anything survive in such a toxic environment? I’m not sure. But it does, and I need to honour that. Disconnect. Stuck. Flow. Movement. Change. I need those things. I need a sketchbook. I want a plate of melted cheese. I want to go outside, which I haven’t done today. I want to be accepted into the Creative Writing program at UBC. I want to travel. Like, really travel. With a backpack, by foot. Adventure around. Just wander and get lost. And found again. I’m not organized enough. I need better organization skills. I need better hope skills. I feel old, I feel at the end of my rope, or close to it. I feel like I’m going to die soon anyway. I know that isn’t true. I want better alignment. I want. That’s a good sign. 

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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