I tend to treat writing like therapy. There are days when I think, I don’t need to write anything, there’s nothing going on in my life that anyone else could possibly care about, besides no one actually reads my crummy little blog anyway so who care?
Who cares? My poor little brain that’s clouded with mess cares. I call it therapy because I feel like the days that you don’t think you need it are the ones when you desperately do.
My writing isn’t anything profound and tends to be just me rambling about the comings and goings in my pretty mundane life, but it’s a chance to vent to get everything out and sometimes I need to be reminded of that. I remember a friend telling me that when I was upset I should write to get the emotion out and not focus on it. When I’m happy I should write to share that happiness, if only to read it later.
Today is a day where I am forcing myself to write (hence the rambling above). Quite honestly, I don’t have much to say, and it’s still early so I’m not jumping off the walls nor am I crawling the floors, but I am still here. Existing. Therefore, I must write something.
So in case you’re reading this, I am alive. I am here. And today, is so far, a great day.