…on vacation this week and using it to stay home and catch up on things and to clean and hang out with my cat.
In my de-cluttering of my closet I found an old box I didn’t even remember having: it has diaries from the mid to late 00s.
Looking at them now, I think I was probably more mentally and emotionally off back then than I am now, but in a personal way, not in a political way like I am now.
It’s already my fifth day off and I still have so much to do. Plus, I’ve gotten lost in the world that is Substack and I have a pile of books I still want to finish reading.
The more I see how amazing so many writers online are the more I’m like ‘why write,’ but then I realize I write to try and heal, not because I think I have anything to say.
There are so many, many good writers in the world and I want more time so I can read them but there are so many other things to be done first though.
That is why I just don’t understand boredom. Boredom seems like such a luxury in a world where free time is hard to come by for a lot of people.
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