Writing nonsense, personal and inconclusive, doesn't provide guidance. Persistently at the verge of something great, of a breakthrough, of feeling alive. Brain splitting, anger directed at nothing in particular gives way to pointed, burning, passionate anger. I feel so fucking lost. Thought about revisiting my old Blogspot thing to dwell over how I haven't matured one bit.

Words used to be malleable, they're now stamped out and crushed. I used to not really care about how they came across, I felt free and I was writing for myself, class boredom was the motivator and that was like, from 8AM to 4PM. I was writing for myself and now I'm supposed to make people care somehow, I'm supposed to write because it'll get me a job, I'm being a whiny little bitch about all this but I'm letting myself have it because I am so tired right now and I just need to get this shit out of my body. (5/5/2020)