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Today, my professor told me to find darkness.

She asked, “can you write when you’re extremely happy?”

No, I can’t.

This should be my schedule then.

1300 Wake up

1400 Still in bed. Eyes wide open. Pondering on early morning existential crisis.

1500 Open laptop. Sigh heavily whilst looking for Envi NGOs (Adelle’s someone like you playing in the background)

1700 Have breakfast/lunch/dinner

1900 Drink… leftover wine from New Year’s Eve

2100 Take bath. Sober Self.

100   WRITE FUCKING ANYTHING. JUST WRITE.

Seducing words have always proved to be difficult, transforming nuggets subconsciously picked up into productive ideas more so.

Being coherent enough to be understood by one’self is a struggle,

Especially when suffering chronic mind fog.

Solitude may have well been a gift rather a consequence of anti-social abilities.

Can I command myself

“Today, you’re going to spend two hours reliving each misery, pain, hurt that you’ve ever felt. Resurrect the monsters that wreaked havoc to your self esteem and devastated the core of your being”?