writer's blank canvas

i promised myself to write about my feelings every single day as a means to exorcise my excessively negative emotions. and it's already my bedtime and somehow i don't have anything to write about. which doesn't necessarily mean i have no negative feelings, they're still very much alive and kicking. but i'm just not compelled to push through with any of the drafts i've been writing.

perhaps because i also promised myself to minimize writing about the same thing twice. i don't think i can keep track because unlike the first couple of weeks of being fresh from the catastrophic break up, i'm not keen on rereading my blog entries probably because i'm slowly getting over it.

i really need to have some sort of inspiration to write, and my former partner, or her sugar daddy, or even the bastard that she's trying to pin on me, aren't enough of a driving force for me anymore. there isn't an infinite amount of ways to tell people to fuck off when your interest in telling them to fuck off is finite.

which, at the end of the day, is good. a milestone in getting over this mess is not caring anymore. everyone's been telling me to play it cool and show the world that i'm unaffected, but lying just isn't my style.

and when you start to see me playing it cool, it's not because i'm playing you, it's because i'm wholeheartedly being me.

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