here i am again, plus one new job, minus a prescription for my crazy pills. I gave up my job. I didn't pre-plan it, just did it one day when I decided I'd had enough. Then, I got another one. And that's why I'm writing. I drive an hour each way to write about...something I'm not crazy about. I don't know what i'm doing. I'm scared I'm making a fool of myself, I just want to stop.
Like, forget it, I don't want to work anymore. I don't want to write. I can't because it's hard. And I'm winey.
I hate myself and my stupid brain. Why isn't it satisfied and why am I so lazy?
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