It's Hard To Leave New

Nothing Wrong With Changing Your Mind. That's A Very Unwaffling Thing To Say: "nothing Wrong..." Who Am I To Say That There's Nothing Wrong With It? Maybe Something Is Wrong With Changing Your Mind. Anyway, Love Is Very, Very Difficult. I Love. But Probably Because I Hate Myself On Some Deep, Sick Level, It Makes Loving Difficult. But I Do Try.

Whether I'm Writing Scripts Or Prose, The Goal Is Identical. To Give Pleasure. Now Whether I Succeed Or Not Is Up For Debate, And, Mostly, I Fail. But I Try. I Like To Make Things. It's A Way To Stay Busy During One's Ephemeral And Confusing Life.

I Didn't Play Or Like A Lot Of Board Games As A Child. I Liked Playing With My G.i. Joes And Making Up Adventures For Them.

I Didn't Think I Was In A Morbid Mood, But It Appears I Am. My Mind Goes Round And Round Trying To Figure Things Out, But I Always Come Back To The Same Two Things: Loneliness And Death. Life Ends Before We Figure Anything Out, Most Importantly How Not To Be Lonely. Solitude Is Fine. But Feeling Like You Have No One To Love - Abject Lonliness - Is Not Alright.

Mostly I Have To Try To Censor Myself So As Not To Write Things That Will Hurt Other People, Or That Will Go Too Far.