I have pieces of my Mom in a box on a shelf. Well, not pieces, ashes- though suppose there could be bone fragments in there. I'd wanted to open it and look through the ashes to find one or two, and make something out of them, like a necklace or just something I could keep in my pocket all the time like some kind of talisman, I guess. Never did get around to it.
So, I'm 29. I'm finding myself in all manner of pickles and crisises. Turmoil. Because I'm not finding myself, I guess. 29, and I don't know who the fuck I am. 29, barely any skills, barely any friends, debt far past my eyeballs, barely loved, barely lived. I think I can count people in the world who love and care about me on one hand, even if I had a couple fingers cut off, it seems.
So many things I haven't gotten around to. Debt piling up unchecked b/c I don't feel like doing paperwork. School gone to hell b/c I don't feel like leaving my apartment or working on... well anything, it seems.
meh... and onward it goes, I could write for miles and still say nothing good it seems.
So now what?
ergh. guess I'll post more here later. been a while, and I guess I have a lot to say.
though just more whining as ever... :/
