Life is hard. Why am I back on here? I want to keep moving forward, but here I am sitting on my couch like a lifeless sack of nothing. Is nothing inherently lifeless? I don't know. I am having a mini panic attack in my mind. Another year of school? oh fuck. No tattoos from my tattooer beau? Oh fuck. No more drinking? Oh fuck. I am scared. Scared about the past and scared about the future. I just don't know what to do. Maybe I should've kept with biology and tried desperately to bribe someone to give me a PhD. The only thing that seems sensible right now is masturbating. Masturbating is a mindless activity that solves everything. Well, sort of.
Breathe Molly. I am beginning to get neurotic with nervousness. This post is merely a place to hold my words. I'd be lying if I didn't say that writing is my passion and has always been my saving grace. I hate how inactive in film I am right now. It breaks my heart. I kind of just want to go buy an expensive camera and start creating stupid shit. No fear filming. This is just one of those moments when the past creeps up on you, taps your shoulder and whispers, "Hey, I'm baccccckkkkk!" God damn.
I just want to erase and start over. You can start over, but your past will forever be there waiting to remind you that you've fucked up before and that you can do it again, fuck up, that is.
It suddenly got sweltering hot in this room.
Oh god, pre menopause.
I haven't even sold a script yet. Menopause, wait!
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