What would it be like to write on this page every day for a month? What would that look like? Would I even recognize or know what it was? What I created or destroyed in the process?

I highlighted and almost took this thought to another word document to file away in a drive stored away in a drawer with another few dozen half…or more accurately, mostly completed. They’re there. I could do so many things with them, but for years I haven’t done fuck all with shit to be frank. And nobody wants to fuckin be Frank.

I’ve carried the same blue notebook in my bag for the better or worse half of a decade. Rose coloured glasses that shatter change the way you see the world. Some shit never gets straightened out. Some shit ends up coming back around again in the most unexpected ways. Recently, that’s come in the form of understanding someone else’s experience in a profoundly different way. I don’t want to misconstrue it in the sense that I want anything to do with certain people even…no especially after years of no contact.

God. The feeling of no contact. It fucking sucks. God damn does it fucking suck.

No really though. I’m telling you it sucks.

You have someone in your life that means so much that they affect every aspect of your life. So much so that you have to actively work daily to choose a different path than what you have in the past. Fuck it. It’s a better path. And that shit hurts. I don’t want to admit how much I’ve self sabotaged. Eventually we have to make our amends with our own shit. And many times that means removing yourself from people and situations that cause you pain and trauma.

Those people may never truly know, understand, or care about you and that’s a shitty truth to face. No matter how much time and energy you put into them it may never amount to shit. C’est la vie.
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I started my current notebook sometime in 2015 and have had so much change in that time. I’ve changed in that time. And the thing I hate most about the last time I flipped through the pages is how many fucking pages say the same thing, “Well, I don’t remember the last time I wrote in here.”

Page after page it was the same thing because it only ever happens a couple times a year it seems. Sometimes it goes for a short idea but doesn’t pass. Like the drawer full of ideas. So what happens if I spend the time I don’t use on Facebook anymore, and rededicate myself here?