I think I would want to write more.

Signed up for a writing program today starting in March.

I need the discipline to write, hence the structure of a writing program should be able to prompt me to draw words out of my brain.

I struggle with expressing my feelings a lot of the time. I beat myself up a lot over the most minuscule things.

I think my therapist is right. I do not love myself too much.

I have been blessed with intelligence and sometimes that is to my detriment. I get bored fast.

And I feel like being able to write well, to draw in an audience without boring them, is so important. In this day and age of the internet, literally, everybody can up and pretend to be a writer.

I have knowledge to drop on this world, but if I want to write, I want to do it well. I want to do it in a way that nobody would read my work and click away.

I was in the elevator today with Shri and we were talking about cabs. I have never ridden a yellow cab in my life. There was some lady in the elevator and she was appalled that I had never ridden on a cab before in my life. So, I think it should be on my bucket list to ride the cab home someday.

Justin texted me. It made me sad. Hearing from him always stir up bad memories for me, and it always makes me resent and mad at him. And if any good memories get stirred up, it also makes me sad that we won't make any more of those memories, and eventually, my memories of him will fade too.

It angers me that he deleted photos and sent me all of our photos. It seems a lot like he does not appreciate the time we had together.

Oh well. I think I should keep my distance. Love myself.

Hey

I forgotten that night in the lodge. That was by far one of the worst nights of my life. I could have died that night.

The night we went camping.

The night of Alex's housewarming party.

The night where we sat on the couch and you told me about all the things.

That day that we went to IKEA.

That night you came back from London, and we walked around the lake and ended up in your place.

The many nights I spent at your 420 W Wilson place.

When Django slept on the goddamn pillow.

When you took my pictures.

That night with Cadence.

Snide remarks and butt pinches.

I guess, I don't feel too much about it anymore. I hardly remember all of them.

Kinda sad that we aren't close. I am lonely. I miss the closeness of somebody. Anybody. Feels terrible to know that out of all the people in the world, I don't have any of MY people.

Why can't I be satisfied with life the way everybody else is? Maybe they aren't. But maybe getting over the initial hump of getting to know people is difficult.

It's like the goddamn stock market. At what point do you sell?

You treated me like a piece of shit. I don't know why I do not keep that in front of my brain when I think of you.