here's another entry, only because i fear i have used up enough pages of my journal tonight. scrambled cursive words across each unmarked page, forming senseless sentences. write drunk, edit sober. write drunk, edit sober. write drunk, edit sober. i wonder what happens if you never edit, if you just go, let it wander.
it feels nothing like christmas this year, and all i want to do is go home. i miss all of my christmas decorations, all the ornaments, each of us have our own. i miss my moms hand painted ceramic town.
this room should feel magical. lights strung up on the walls, a beautiful pile of packages in the corner, stockings on the wall, but it doesn't, not to me. tonight i feel lonely, and it doesn't make sense because i shouldn't. rum is not my friend. hormones are not my friend. there are circles to go round in right now, and i feel out of the loop with even my own.
to you: i hope your year turned out like it should have, like you had so much hope for it to.
i don't know what i feel right now. i feel so much, and then it feels like i feel nothing.