Write about something. Write about anything. Write about how fuckin’ hard it is to write sometimes. It doesn’t matter so long as you’re trying to work that muscle in any way you can.
It does feel good to slide my fingers over the keys, watching them dance at my thoughts command in the pale glow of the screen’s light. God, I prefer the dark anymore. Or the dimmly lit. No big light. Fuck the big light. String lights or nothing. Which is to say, I’m often using daylight (pretty okay with that lately) or dimming the fuck out of the Bluetooth big lights. Usually.
I don’t know if this is a product of being on a nocturnal schedule or living with someone who has the light sensitivity of a pissy vampire.
My brain feels heavy, sad and useless. Much like the rest of me so at least I match.
I felt so optimistic this week right up until everyone else around me decided that was suddenly an annoying trait. Both of the people who have told me multiple times “not to be so dark” are the ones only able to see the worst in everything all of a sudden. Neither one can decide what my value is or if I even have one. So I guess the opinion isn’t really something I should factor into my view on life anyway.
It’s honestly neither here nor there. At least one of them genuinely means well and both of them love me. I have to re-learn to trust other humans. I’ve had a fair bit of luck with friends, but people who I call family one way or another, feels naturally traitorous. That surprise betrayls are to be expected and to an extent tolerated. A tradition I’ve done my best to buck and teach my offspring to be better at it than even I am. Self-taught socializing because what was original imprinted is a recipe for a miserable life.
There. I wrote something. It wasn’t the full hour, but after the weird, agressive way today metaphorically swung me around by my hair, it’s better than absolutely nothing. We’ll figure shit out better tomorrow. Work our ass off, write our ass off.
Easy.
