On this last day of the year, I spend it like I normally would on a day off. I am here typing my life away, documenting the thoughts and feelings that cloud my mind, flooding of words out of my fingers, typing into the ether.

I spend it like I normally would.

Time is drawing to a close.

I have written my goodbye and am looking forward to what the new year will bring. The new memories that I’ll make. The new things about myself that I will find.

The new year will be a blank canvas awaiting me to paint my masterpiece. The control is mine. The decision is mine.

I just need to paint it with conviction.

* * *

Words.

They are all that I have.

Words.

They comfort me. They understand me.

They get me.

Words.

My how I have grown to love these little letters and punctuations. They were once a dreaded tour, but now I devour them because they are a life force.

They make me feel alive, they make me feel. They give me genuine emotions, tugging at my easily manipulated heart strings.

Words.

My drug of choice.

* * *

My ambitions are running wild. My head is spinning with ideas on how I can write a novella or a novel. The essence of the story is just swimming in my head, waiting for me to pluck it out and organize them.

It won’t be a standard structure or narrative. It’ll be something that jumps around with a running string that ties everything together.

I just need to focus on it, to write it out.

I just need to be good about it and stop dicking around and watch too much TV. My year should be filled with projects of writing and photography. It should be a busy year of productivity instead of the flatted year of procrastination.

* * *

There’s a woman here, coming in all huffing and puffing with a purpose. She sits next to me and then decides to change to another table.

She’s quiet as she sets up her laptop, doing whatever it is that she’s doing. She fires it up and places her order for her boba milk tea.

Normally a girl like her would generally not hold my attention. I looked her over and decided that was enough of that from me for her, but something draws me in.

She, Jordan — why not? sits there with her sunglasses on, writing.

Maybe she has very sensitive eyes and she needs the sunglasses to dampen the brightness of her laptop screen. Staring at the laptop for too long causes migraines.

I’m curious now what it is that she’s working on. Is it a story, a blog, screenplay, or something more in the vein of work? This is her office? Maybe.

I don’t know.

* * *

Today’s words are just time suckers. They have no value, just words that come to me as I try to pass the time, to be out of my house, to enjoy the outside world, to do what it is that I usually need to do.