Life is great. I'm on top of my school work, my Christmas exams are over, my mother's trying to control my life but that's just a phase she goes through - it'll pass. My social anxiety (for lack of a better term) is better than it has ever been, which isn't much by normal standards but it's the most freeing thing I've ever experienced.
So why am I so sad? I haven't got any specific reason for feeling this way and it makes me think that I don't have the right to feel unhappy right now. Like my minor worries aren't important enough in the grand scale of the world. I know you oughtn't to judge yourself compared to others and that every problem is uniquely dealt with but preaching and practising are so very far from each other.
I always have the feeling that I'm not doing anything worthwhile with my life. It's a boredom and a fear and it's a terrible, terrible flaw.
At the beginning of this year one of my resolutions was to write every day and though I was doing quite well keeping to this I decided about half way through the year that I didn't want to be writing anymore. I regret this decision for many reasons not only because writing allows me to examine my thoughts and understand myself better but also because I have recently rediscovered my love of writing. And I mean writing as a noun not a verb. I love the flow of word to word across a page, the scrawl of a familiar handwriting, I love simple wordplay that creates such beautiful humour. I just love writing, man. It's the most awe inspiring art that will ever pass through my mind. I miss it too and though I wish I was actually good at it I still enjoy scribbling rubbish onto a sheet.
I don't have a point to this post except to update my blog because it has been far too long. Hopefully that won't happen again.
No comments:
Post a Comment