I haven’t been writing a lot lately…I haven’t really written at all in the last two months, unless it’s the night before a post, and I’m not really sure why that is. My life is really calm right now…not much to complain about, nor much I care to talk about. Life is simple. Life is actually pretty good. I get to work on the goals I set out for in Maine and just enjoy the sunshine for once.
I typically only write when I’m sad. I do know that about myself. Writing has been the only healthy coping mechanism I’ve ever had—sometimes to the point where I don’t even know how to write when I’m happy. For some reason, in my head, happy writing feels boring, and sometimes I get stuck on the idea that people who read it might think I’m faking it or think it’s weird to write about being happy.
I mean, let’s face it—we live in a country that loves tragedy, so that’s basically all I write about. The only difference is that it’s the tragedies of my own life. I should really try changing that now that I think about it. I want to be able to look back at my posts and not just feel sad while reading them.
Damn…when I think of it that way, I don’t want to look back and think my twenties were just filled with emotional horrors. Ugh. I guess it’s time to start writing about the happy times—and maybe learn to complain a little less.