Buzzing brain again. And yet again I let it keep me up until five in the morning before trying to write.
Writing seems to help me do something about it because it allows me to bottle neck my thoughts to the point where I have to focus just enough to get one word out at a time.
So, what do I want to write about? I ask myself that a lot. Maybe I’ll write about writing. Maybe I’ll reveal some dark secret from my day or some distant past.
Maybe I’ll use this page to rant about an error on my or someone else’s part.
Maybe I’ll guilt trip and whine about all the mistakes I’ve made, just today, which will domino into all the mistakes I’ve ever made in my entire life.
When I was five…
Wait, what? Did you think I was actually going to go there? Hell no. I have at least two notebooks filled with angsty poetry and ranty rants.