Fresh out of blankity blanks to write lately. Which infuriates me because I have so much to write about. I guess they call this writer's block? It sucks. I can't even do art.
I'm so over winter. I need something other than barren landscape & grey.
I hate grey.
Ok, so I don't *hate* everything, myself included. However, there is this constant battle within to shake others until they understand what kindness, loyalty, compassion means versus turning the other
I am broken. It seems hell is full of fun time circus mirrors and this is probably why they call it hell. These mirrors distort things, make me think I am climbing out but in reality, I am just walkin