I’m finding a blank page intimidating tonight. Unsure why, ‘cos I’m chock full of thoughts. Random, fleeting ones. Admittedly each of them would probably not be enough to expand into a full analysis, but I’ll be damned if I spend any more time staring at this poxy field of white.
Ah. 50 words. Easy as breathing. Nah, it’s a struggle. A lot of things are at the minute; job I hate, living with people I’d rather not, I do have money in my pocket (which is nice) but it’s all accounted for as savings so may as well not be there. My partner’s job is in danger too, which, whilst not directly my burden, I still have to deal with. Long story short, whilst good, things are not ideal. Yeah, I’m aware this is a bit of a journal entry but my fingers are busy and almost in a flow. Progress by inches is still progress.
I’m still craving fulfilment. Job satisfaction. Intelligence. Fitness. A burrito. Wealth. Inherent laziness doesn’t really go well with any of those, however. Maybe the burrito, but the rest don’t mix. All the ingredients are there; I have arms and legs and a brain (I’m told), but nothing to move them, to move me enough to do anything about it.
I have had Moana songs in my head for 24 hours now.
They refuse to leave.