I sit on my phone watching people become successful and liking and sharing and contributing to their success while I sit on my bed for the 9th day in a row wishing to be successful.
There's so much irony
I'm also sick of irony.
I'm sick of the pandemic
I'm sick of not seeing people
I'm sick of being unemployed
I'm sick of the fact that everything is out of my control
I’m sick of the fact that I was on a fucking roll and the universe just said “nope”
And I am one thousand percent aware of the fact that we’re all going through this.
And I genuinely don't understand how people are coping.
I feel like I'm living in a neutral zone, everything is fine, I guess.
Very little things make me genuinely happy, and it takes nothing to get frustrated and upset.
I am so self aware that it makes me sick.
Writing this pisses me off because I know what I need to do to move forward.
I need to get my book edited and copyright it
I need to take my vitamins
I need to vacuum my sheets
I need to actually just leave my room
I'm going to write a step by step plan of what I need to do in the morning, so the first few beats of my daily rhythm go correctly.
I might be anxious and depressed but at least I'll be out of bed.