This was the story of my entire weekend. And also, this:
I have been beating myself up for days trying to figure out what I want to write about. It's so hard! And being creative should't be hard work, it's just supposed to flow from your body, an expression of your soul.
I think I may be wasting my efforts on my new twitter addiction. And that's really sad, when you think about it. Or maybe I'm simply not tormented enough to be inspired. Who the fuck knows?
Hey, you ever get that thing where you feel like you could run anyone's life better than your own? I do all the time. I get so frustrated because I can see the obvious choices someone should be making but are simply too blind to see. But then I have to step back and assess whether I actually know what's best, or if I'm trying to serve myself in some way.
I wish I could run my own life as well as I run others' in my imagination.