In which I lament my inability to write like I want to or feel like I should.
Pondering whether my thoughts make me a bad person even if I act counter to them.
I think I love time travel so much because it allows me to ponder a way out of this world without having to kill myself.
It dawned on me a while ago that I default to she/her pronouns for myself but I’ve never actually had any feelings about it one way or the other. I don’t have any emotional connection to being female.
I’m out of practice on doing work. I have a lot of ideas and things I want to do, but I have no discipline. I find it very difficult to focus on any task. I am incredibly quick to move on to something new without having made any significant progress in what I was already doing. I don’t know how to get things done.