Every time I read what a good time everyone is having in their lives, I often feel like I am lacking, what can I possibly say that would usurp these fantastic stories or even come close. I don’t have anything to say. I wake, eat sleep, promise to work out but I don’t and then I sleep. In the weekend I spend money and extinguish any remote thought of work form my mind, and then, I sleep just like any other day. I promise to write, read, ferment my thoughts, embrace the day, exercise, feel the breeze on my face. I promise all these but then, I sleep and promise it for some other day. I would do it tomorrow.
So there is no captivating story or point to my life and in some ways I know it would always be that way. I wonder why I got so many journals, and blogs to capture these days of nothing, celebrate this emptiness, this frightful pity party. Why put people through this process of having to read mundane all over again, isn’t it bad enough that they (or at least some of them) have to live it.
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