I’m so pitiful, you know.
It’s been less than 24 hours and I’m already trying to find ways to not write today. Yes, I am starting back in school as of today and yes, I have a ton on my plate, but I read somewhere that it doesn’t matter. You should carve out time for the things you love and I wholeheartedly agree.
But then I start to question my love. Am I just doing this because I think this is what I should love? Or because writing is something that I’ve always connected with, maybe it doesn’t necessarily represent who I am today? Maybe I fall back to writing because it’s comfortable, but not real love. Maybe I’m just mediocre at everything in life and grasping to writing because I think that perhaps this might be my way of being special.
This is the dialogue that plays on repeat in my brain…
…and it just gets worse from there.
So, I’m pushing through this barrage of negative self talk this morning and writing about it, instead. It’s raining and I just want to go back to bed, but I’m writing because this is what I love and what is good and I deserve to be happy.
Currently Listening: “Pink Rabbits” by The National… brings me to tears every time.
Said it would be painless, a needle in the dark
Said it would be painless, it wasn’t that at all…