Tell me why?

Why?

Why what?

I have no idea what I’m writing right now as I try to get into the habit of putting letters into words, typing out sentences and trying to focus on something that would make something.

I’m having trouble trying to focus as my mind is just empty of anything pertinent, of anything at all that is worth mention.

I’m sure as I just type along, line by line, space by space; I’ll come up with something to say. It just takes time.

Writing like this is getting more and more difficult for me. It’s just purely drivel, stream of conscious flowy flowing of whatever flows in this flowiness of flow.

But it just doesn’t flow, stream, or download into my fingers.

My mind tries to test my finger’s dexterity. It’s not.

Not at all, hence my difficulties of strumming and chord playing. It just doesn’t work.

I thought it would be the rhythm also, but it is many things and I’m just handicapped by it.

* * *

New section. New break.

Let’s try this again.

What is it that I want to say? What do I want to say?

As I come close to the end of the year, it’ll be another year gone, and a new one to look forward to.

It’s just a blank slate of open possibilities. What is to come? What will happen?

I can only dream, guess, hypothesize, but until it actually happens and pass, I can’t truly say what is to be of my ’12 year.

* * *

It’s back again. The original.

Am I your fire. Your one desire.

Before it was by the contestants, this, now by the boys from the backstreets.

Is it a sign? Is it a thing that I should pay attention?

Most of these entries since its inception have been about this little thing, my fire, my one desire; this little crazy notion of love and the one. The romantic in me just won’t go away even though I really do away with it.

I don’t see it happening anytime soon. It’s just there, nagging. Nagging.

When am I getting married? was the question that was thrown out to me.

I don’t know.

I was told by my little cousins that I should fine a female version of me to get with. In all honestly, I agree. I need a female me.

There are many that come close, quite a few. B5 is pretty close to me in many ways, she would make a good fit. I’m sure there are quite a few others that have crossed my paths and I’m sure that I had a fleeting little crush on them at one time or another.

I’m just drawn to them along with many other girls.

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

How to love

It’s a soft shock to me that in a way I know what it is that I need to do, I just don’t follow through.

My advice is sound. It’s the same as I would give others given my predicament. Exactly the same and yet, here I am, ignoring it.

I guess this happens with everyone that dispenses these little pearls of wisdoms, they just don’t take their own advice.

Why is that?

Honest answer: I have no fucking clue.

* * *

Losing my mind. My own little thought train just derailing on its way to Sanity Focusville killing all that was onboard.

My mind wanders into a mess, nothing to do, nothing to see. It just lacks whatever focus and is falling into a rut rut that I don’t know how to get out of now.

I need something to do, I need to finish my projects, whatever they may be.

I just need some sort of plan, direction, for the day, for the hour, for the minutes and seconds that I am here. I just need something.

Fobby fobilicious unpacking the things that she needs to do to work, to take notes, write letters in her character heavy script that I’m illiterate at.

She buckles down, checking her time, writing her letters.

People don’t write letters anymore, by hand, stuff in envelopes, sticker on their stamps and leave it out for the postman.

It’s a dying art with the constant need for instant results. Texts. IMs. Emails. Pings and what nots.

It’s a dying slow way of doing things, but in a way, I guess that is what romance is all about, the dying art of things.

* * *

Blah!

* * *