I was writing this thing about how  sad and stressed I was, and now I’ve scrapped it. I feel like shit right now, but I don’t want to write about that. I don’t want to write about the absolute drain I’ve felt over the last few years. I don’t want to write about the lack of support I’ve felt, as well as my own neglect. I don’t want to.

What I want to write about is the future and where my life is going, and I want to reach out and express something meaningful. Little changes around here, yet I keep on trying. I keep on persevering.

Sometimes things do come along and sometimes things do change, but you need to work on it and so on and so forth, and once more I’m in an empty room and I’m listening to what I’m listening to and all should be good, but in my heart lies hurt, and it’s going to take a long time before it goes. It’s going to take a long time before I’m comfortable again.

Having to be prepared to refurnish a whole house is… not fun, to say the least. I’m not wanting to go through this, but I might have to. If so, so be it. That’s the way it goes and I’ll keep going with that if I have to. Rather not, but might just.

But I don’t want to be writing about this. I can see outside and it looks like it’s raining, but it’s not. I want to write about that. I want to write about the low noise that I can hear. I want to write tales and stories, and I want to explore a vast world that lies ahead.

Actually, I think it is raining outside.

So I want to write and explore, and I used to have dreams and desires, and I still do, but so much of it has been pushed away for survival. It’s all changed, and not in ways that I’d have hoped. How am I successful? In what aspects am I successful? Does it even matter? I don’t know. Do I care? I don’t know.

This is all changing for the cynical, and I don’t want it. I don’t want this kind of despairing about shit in my life. I want to go drive a long, long distance, and see where everything lies. I want to be able to keep on going and push onward, and come back and feel okay and safe, and all of those things. I just want to dream and see it become a reality.

What I want write now, or at least something I really want right now, is just to see another day. See tomorrow and wake up and know that I’ll be okay. Know that I won’t have to worry about being homeless. I have to wonder how many people out there feel the same way. I wonder how many just want to have some comfort again.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:34:80

It’s all waves. Might feel better this afternoon. Don’t know. Don’t care much.

Written at work.