I told myself to start writing again. So, here I am, writing again.
I told myself I should become a blogger, but a blogger I did not become.
No fame, no fortune.
Just words.
These words were found somewhere in between mundane and sadness off the north coast of anxious thoughts. Once found they should be returned to "Go Fuck Yourself".
If a blog post is written in a forest does anyone hear?
But, what should I be writing about?
My short stories, so many of those were thought up aged 14 - 16 and so many of them, I still cannot let go of today.
My script, Emmy-worthy TV show ideas.
Make-up, Fashion, Style and earn some freebies and party invites.
Nonsense.
I had a blog once, and another one before, and another before that, and another one before that also.
All is scripted and then forgotten. All is out of the system, like a quinoa kale detox smoothie.
So I am here between mundane and sadness, off the north coast of anxious thoughts.
Dear God, when will I learn? I ask myself, if you knew the things I knew, you'd know that that thought is ironic at best and suicidal at worst. God is only one Facebook message away, I tell myself.
That's the question, innit? When will I learn, I don't know what I have to learn, I just know I have to learn.
Learn to let go.
Learn to be happy.
Learn to be me.
Learn to sleep well.
Learn to love (myself).
Learn to let go.
Learn to appreciate.
Learn to just do fucking something about this.
