I cleaned my room last week. After moving home at the end of Fall semester, it looked as if a piñata full of boxes, paper, and clothing had burst from the ceiling fan. Now it’s all shiny and fluffy and neat, just how I like it. (I attribute its fluffiness to a mound of pillows and blankets with which I mean to cuddle when I read.)
My old/new school starts tomorrow. I’m caught between feeling super excited (since I usually love school) and feeling traumatized (because I keep flashing back to last semester, whilst I simultaneously try to bury those memories in the recesses of my mind).
I think my writing waxes a little flowery when I’m anxious.
Why am I even telling you this? Where’s the inspirational kick of suicide recovery or depression inspiration? I guess tonight I’m saving every last ounce of my be-awesome energy for myself.
Also… sorry if this disappoints, but I am considering reducing my posting to just twice a week; a tangent on Tuesday and a poem on Friday. Thoughts? Oh ho, that’s right… even if you had an opinion about my writing habits, you probably wouldn’t voice it. That’s totally okay. In fact, it almost makes me feel less guilty that I seem to write directly into the cold heart of cyberspace. It’s so weird when people mention my blog around me before I do. I think,
“Wait, people actually read this?!”
I hope your adventures go to your liking. Keep the faith. Love yourself. All that good stuff.