I want to write, but I have no clue anymore. I usually write when I’m stressed or something traumatic happens in my personal life, but it hasn’t been like that lately. I have an ongoing project here in my writing folder, the android piece. That doesn’t seem too hard or sad, but I’m just not motivated.
A year ago, I had so many ideas because my life was fucked. I was not happy. I was afraid to even talk to the guy I lived with and spent many a day being silent in my own bedroom. I watched Netflix by myself and did homework. I didn’t really talk to anybody except for my friend from my freshman year. I feel like I keep talking about this, but it’s also good to talk about the negative parts in your life. I’ve removed the toxicity with a squeegee like a sludge.
Today, I chatted up my friend, the co-president of my group and I couldn’t stop smiling because our conversation went downhill quickly. Tonight, I wore a passion peel off because it’s good to treat yourself. Yesterday, I took an adventure through this town with one of the best people I know and someone I really like. I went to Relay for Life this past weekend and did wonderful charity work with some great people. I’m going to Ihop, the best place on Earth, with amazing people, and one of them is that special person. They know I talk about them here because they read everything I write that isn’t fiction; shout out to you, you know how I feel.
I went to Chicago last month to go to a conference because I was lucky enough to be asked to go. I’m a board member for my on-campus group where I have made my circle of friends bigger. I’m exercising more and eating less and doing more things things that make me happy. WOW. It feels good to be happy! WHO KNEW?