I don’t know if I honestly could keep this up. I need something. LIKE ANYTHING TO INSPIRE ME. Maybe I’m ill fated. Should I just accept it? Never in my imagination would I thought that I would be reduced to this. Good lord I need to write something. This isn’t writing.
Thursday, October 14
I woke up with a very weird feeling. I was feeling my belly and my sides if I had any stab wounds. I had this dream. Well I woke up from a dream. The dream was very vivid. I could still smell the colors of it. It wasn’t in sepia or black and white or blurry like most dreams in movies are. It was in Technicolor. My dream was like an indie movie with a hint of porn on the side. I stabbed a lot of people in that dream.
Wednesday, October 13
Greek breakfast. Coffee and cigarettes. That what I always have whenever I wake up. I sit on my toilet doing what I usually do while I type these words. (It’s overshare but I can’t think of anything to write). A part of me is telling myself that this is a futile exercise, but a huge part is hopeful. Now I can’t think of anything to write. I think it’s because I’m doing a zillion thing at the same time – doing my morning toilet absolutions, while thinking if the SMS message I sent to my work group would arrive while thinking of something to write.