I have nothing to say...my eyes are sleepy a bit. I am shaken in my heart about things that i’d like to deny. I’m honest though...and consider them silently.

Let dead dogs lie.
Let them bury their dry noses into the grass, and inhale once more its chilled sweetness.

A bay leaf in your flour jar keeps the grain moth away.
bleh I can’t write...I am unmotivated. I know there are things I should write about...should take my mind off of. That I should focus on. I just want to go be myself. Live in a cold apartment, where I drink hot tea, and type on an old typewriter...the kind that dings when you reach the pages edge. I want to laugh more freely at people I don’t know...I want to be popular...pretty...funny...well dressed. Yet content to be alone...to breathe through my cold nose. To forget about taking pictures of myself...to forget about creating an image. To write, write when I don’t feel like it. To work, work, work....life’s not about the accomplishments, it’s about the process. The struggle, then pain that makes you aware that once you were happy...and that you’ll be happy again. I want to imitate scenes of life, with my words...