Because literature is therapeutic.
I've just finished watching my tv show on Okto, saw my name roll up under the credits as "Assistant Producer" and felt a really small surge of satisfaction running though my veins.
Really small.
Have name appear on tv- Tick.
Anyway, have been stalking other people's blogs (hey who haven't!) and trolling on Facebook (like you're not doing it now), just trying to gather a glimpse of what it would be like to be someone else.
To have a different life.
To walk a different path.
To have another hobby that doesn't involve a particularly bouncy ball.
To have a whole other personality and a hair of bright red.
Ah well, the fantasies continue.
Will I be cooler in the end?
Well, does it matter?
Actually I have to admit I don't know how to continue with this post, but because I like to type words on the keyboard without having to look at it, plus I can afford to stay up for another half an hour, that's why I'm still typing.
And you've just wasted 30 seconds of your life reading this.
But that doesn't mean you should stop.
I guess it's in the way I write about stuff. Some people just have that flair to hook people in, and I just want to be funny.
In fact, half the things I write on this blog are not raw front line events that impact me. They're whittled, censored and packaged into a happy meal text.
You know why?
Cos I'm scared. I don't want my life to be an open book, but I enjoy the thrill of writing on the keyboard.
And I like my secrets. Shhhh. I like them safe, I like them sound, and I like them where I can trust them. In the hearts of people who matter.
You know, I really don't know how to end this.
Someday, I'll get some cathartic reaction to the things I write and it'll all make sense.
For now, I need to give myself a reminder that doesn't make much sense
Not to you who views my life as exciting as bread, cos I said so-
That is:
Remember your choice and love it.
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