been hitting "previous entry" for the past hour or so,
(since the boy friend's still occupied with a shoot and well,
sunday nights are generally stay-home prep sessions for the monday-to-come)
mindfully reflecting upon what i was like and how ive become.
truth be told, i find it a little sad that i find little to write about,
or rather, how little of myself i'm willing to share with myself
(and maybe a few close friends here and there)
either ways, i find myself unable to find the right selection of words
to accurately convey my thoughts.
writing (and then reading thru what ive written)
used to make me really happy.
it's not for the lack of effort though, the absence of entries..
every time i get somewhere near a paragraph,
i laugh at the foolishness of my musings,
the child-like language - a terrific bastardization, an injustice to my thoughts. -
that when properly expressed, could seem less dopey.
and they get axed.
i think with age comes the realization that one simply cannot hold on to dreams for much longer
and it is in dreams that ones finds solace,
the safe net that allows procrastination and other such habits.
and with such a realization, you have to stop telling yourself that someday you'd be someone
but just for today i'll take it easy.
you'd actually have to get up and get going.
its scary when you know that you can't put it off
and when you fuck up, there's possibly little / no time
for an attempt at recovery.
and it scares me.
i think i squandered away too much of my youth,
that i now have lesser.
and doubly hard too, i'd have to work,
to get back where i should be.
and back to reflecting back,
they weren't squandered away very wisely.
it wasn't worth the while.
<3.
