i'm done. holding this report card in my hands, i can look past the grades. aided, yes, by the fact that they're hideous. but i can look past them nonetheless. the failures, the victories, the in-betweens. because i'm done.
i should write more often. i can't count the number of times i mentally shape something worth writing about, in the shower or eating breakfast or driving somewhere, anywhere. and then i sit down to write, and it's gone. not the writing, but the motivation. why write? for whose benefit? sometimes i feel selfish thinking that if i write, somebody will read, as if what i have to say has a precedence over whatever else that person is doing at the time. i'll argue with myself, stalemate and flick the thought away, like a cigarette, its momentary brilliance tumbling and exploding in a helpless shower of reddened ashes on pavement. sigh.
roroboy02: so this is our first day of summer... Spankalicious55: yeah... it kinda sux so far roroboy02: no kidding Spankalicious55: yeah... summer's gonna suck if every day is like this