I am writing this from bed on Day 9 of self-isolation (because I’m smart). I hope you’re doing well.
Life has become mundane.
I had an epiphany last week. I was thinking about the times in my life I was happiest—not moments, but weeks. Months. Years. And they’re really easy for me to identify.
I never really considered myself an honest person.
I’ve been thinking about the traits I was proud of when I was younger. The ability to lie convincingly and without shame was one of them. Obviously, it isn’t exactly something someone should be proud of, but I was a good liar and it protected me. So yes, I was proud.
Apparently it was Mental Health Awareness Day last week and I completely missed it. Oops. But I’m gonna touch on that topic now instead and I don’t think anyone will be too mad at me because it’s not like it’s restricted to just one day anyway.
I have a new schedule. Now that I have my licence and a car, I drive my brother to school in the mornings when he’s over at my dad’s with us. This is good. It keeps me from working into the early hours like I used to.
Well, this was not how I planned to start off my year.
Apologies for my temporary and abrupt leave. My laptop broke.
As a retail worker, the holiday season means I have less and less time for, well, anything.
I broke a record last month: The fewest blog posts posted in a single month since I started. It was two. Pitiful.
Despite the fact that I’ve only written a single post since the beginning of this month, people have kept subscribing to my blog. I appreciate the vote of confidence, and I suppose I should start writing again to make your loyalty worthwhile.
I recently read an old diary of mine from when I was fourteen-ish. I had tried to make it fun in the beginning in the way I’d thought diaries were supposed to be, like YA contemporary novels and 90s teen flicks. But I gave up about halfway through.