“Our life is what our thoughts make it.”
So that makes it crappy, confusing and random?
Sometimes, I wish I could draw. Then, my life would have been artsy. Instead of sitting in front of a blank monitor screen or scrolling mindlessly through “funnies”, I could take up the pencil and doodle out my thoughts.
Words are my only crutch to make sense of the world, though. But the letters seem to have taken root in my brain, deep, refusing to bear fruit. So all I have are vines and tangles; crap that I’m unable to cut through.
Also, not everyone has the balls to call themselves an artist unless they have got the goods to back it up. But every other person seems to be a writer now.
I need to stop being such a scatterbrain…