I feel bad about not making time for the things I’m supposed to do.
It’s not a lack of time that’s the problem it’s the other thing, human things, that is within my control
Hence I feel bad
I blame my environment but I’m lazy, I know this.
For some reason reading and writing is the easy thing to do when I got nothing else.
What makes my apartment suck up all of my energy?
I think my life is comfortable, too comfortable
Maybe I should quit my day job? That would put fire under my ass.
Why do I have to do it, though? Who cares if I waste my time anyway, is there something lost?
You live to create things, if you can. Everyone create something; a life, a reason to exist, an income, someone to hate, a reason to fight? a reason to love. What’s to say they are good or bad, they are all reasons to live.
What’s my reason other than feel joy? I can make people feel good around me but that’s no reason to exist. My writing is perhaps my reason. Maybe that’s why I don’t write all the time, because it’s just too important.
Nobody created anything worthwhile by being happy, it seems like.