nearly a new year. i think the last time i resolved to ‘write everyday’ was new year’s day, 2018. or was it 2019? i dunno. i didn’t even bother kidding myself in 2020. year i had the most to write about, i wrote the least. too busy living. too much emotion. can’t handle. writing used to make things better, now it makes it worse. makes it too real. it’s hard enough to feel things once. trying to make sense of life with words used to help. now it only hurts.
better build that pain threshold back up, eh. time’s running out again.