I think that, after years of therapy and journalling (online, dream, and traditional) and general introspection, I am burnt out. I am tired of talking about my feelings, why I feel them, who I have them for or about. It seems silly.
The irony of blogging about my feeling of disliking blogging about my feelings does not escape me.
I think about how I used to be an actress. Really. I once wanted to act. As a career. What was wrong with me? When I think about theatre now, as an art form and an institution, I can barely stomach the thought. People get paid (sometimes) to pretend to be other people. What!?!
Thinking about things in their simplest terms is a bit of a mindfuck.
I'm not very articulate on this rainy Monday morning, but I guess I'm trying to say that even though I can't really summon enough time/energy/care to formally blog lately, I can divide my feelings into "likes" and "dislikes."
I have a Tumblr. It makes me happy, and there's no pressure. If I want (and I do want, often), I can simply reblog other people's observations.
Notable Los Angeles: 5/29–6/4
3 hours ago