You know I have a hundred incomplete blog posts that I never finished nor posted. Some are very happy and sad, but nothing about them means anything to me anymore. My fucking mind is a place no one should go.
I don’t even remember what my last post was about. So much has changed when I quit writing for months. Of course, my brain never stopped working, but the motivation and passion vanished. I just walk through the days contemplating when I can rest again. Of course, I sleep so shitty.
Of course, I hate time (said before), so when I have some left before I’m back into reality, I live according to my own fucking world. I could bury myself in a book, movie, or game and randomly count my blessings.
Of course, I should be grateful for everything I have. My family has been huge for all the changes I have made in recent months. I appreciate it; I really do. What I can’t shake is this feeling that some people still think I am going to fuck things up. That I am naive to the challenges that lie ahead. Like I’m some fucking airhead that constantly needs my fucking handheld. It’s funny because I needed my handheld for my torment, not a soul answered. So why the fuck is it constant now. Leave me be.
I hated that when I would drink from the golden cup, I would be criticized for it. How the fuck does a person who worships rocks have the right to judge me? At least I wear my. Ices on my sleeve and not run around this world dressed like a fucking jack-lantern trying to hide how hollow they really are in their false appearance.
My main flaw is to be excited about something that always lets me down.
So I will count my blessings, grind my teeth, rebuild this web, and paint it in the fire of a rain-scented candle while I meditate, letting the embers sink into my eyes and into my heart because even with my luck and blessings, I still feel like I have nothing left to lose.
Hey, at least I found my favorite fork necklace!
In The Spider's Web 
Best thing