4I move my cursor to the top right of my screen…”write“, it says. I click on it as it’s too enticing not to.

It’s Sunday and for the first time in months, I haven’t got any work to do. It’s weird. I love my job. I am writer. It sounds so lovely to say even lovelier to say out loud. I work seven days a week. I told myself today would be all about reading poetry and relaxing, but in all honesty—I am so fucking bored.

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In Dire Need of Calm of Clarity

I am utterly exhausted today. Mentally and emotionally. I spent one to two hours crying so hard, that I’m embarrassed to see my neighbour. I know that this space is for my rantings, but I just don’t feel like going into the details of last night.

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