Last night I kind of felt like typing something, because it’s sort of nice to type stuff and then read it over, or not, and just get whatever out, and then delete it. Because it’s just stuff and nothing that I would want to keep forever or anything. It doesn’t matter if I remember how ambivalent I felt one night and then rambled on about stuff that floated through my brain, it’s just nice to get it out, the action of typing of realizing the words and thoughts, or at least some of the thoughts because not everything makes it onto the page and I think I can type faster than I write now and it’s for sure easier to read typed words, but I was too lazy to get out my computer and so I opened up my purple spiral book and wrote some stuff in there, scrawled really. And I wondered why people feel the need to create stuff, to write stuff down. And I wonder what is wrong with me that I am incapable of focusing on my future. Or working toward a future. I know it scares me and I don’t know why it scares me so much and I didn’t want to think about it last night, I didn’t want to have those terrible conflicting thoughts right before going to bed. I hope tonight will be okay. I hope I don’t feel uncomfortable. I hope I don’t act or look like a jackass. I hope things are looking up. I hope.