It's harder than I thought, blogging or journaling everyday. To me, they're both on the same level-- gushing honest facts and feelings that half the world could care less about. If I can find fifteen minutes in my day where I can do whatever I want, the last thing I want to do is journal/blog. I'd rather read or smoke a cigarette. Bringing out the emotions that I keep bottled up seems pointless, almost like I'm self inflicting pain on myself, reliving the emotions that I try to cover up.
Anyhow, with that said, I've been in a funk lately. Dazed and almost not caring about the outside world. I'd rather live my life through a fantasy of books and pages- imagining myself in a place where life is perfect, bills get paid, and there's food on the table. Okay, I have food on the table, but that's aside the point. I'd rather pay more attention to the characters problems than my own. Basically, I read too much.
That's not the reason for my funk though, I'm guessing. I just haven't been prioritizing time the way I should. I get my son 5 out of the 7 days in a week. The other two, he's in daycare. that's a lot of time to be entertaining a 14 month old baby, but I honestly can't remember what we did yesterday. It's like a fog is covering my brain and everything is mechanical. Like I'm just running through the steps to get through the day.
Anyhow, that's my little rant, and this is my blog for the day. Do I feel better? Eh, no. But at least I've done my part. Spent my fifteen minutes on words that will mean nothing to billions of people.
-The Mrs.
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