The day I dropped my lunch box

I'll admit it, I have lost a lot of my fervor for blogging.

It used to be my razorblade lullaby every evening. The only way to release the monster inside of me. I would lure it out with metaphors and sharp sentence structures, and capture it with a title.

I have felt so lost so recently. I felt like an hourglass that was filled to the brim with sand. There was no space to tell the time.

The evening of my first major blogging mistake, I felt like I had tarnished the only pure thing in my existence.

So I ran away. The mad scientist woke me up before the sun did, and we left. I let go of life for a few days. I sent the mad scientist back to the house, and I spent a few minutes with the big teardrop of an ocean.

I'll admit it, for a few seconds, I almost tried to join it. Not in a depressed way. But in a moment of desperation to become united with the whole of something. Even if it wouldn't even notice.

But I sent my thoughts in instead. And sitting here now, so stressed about life that I feel the need to explode in a flurry of salt water snowflakes, I think that I forgot to remember.

I made a print yesterday. And I realized that even though this poor lost in a lunch box and I were on the rocks

the emotion was still bleeding out somewhere.

Some people are meant to express. You can take away everything in their lives, and you will find in scratched into their skin. Writing, art, love, pain.

You can take the expression of love, but you can't take the love out of expression.

And I am still stressed. And I still want to cry. And I still in some ways hate every pore of my being.

But at least I know that I didn't fully give up. I just cut a vein somewhere else.

And sometimes variety is the only thing to get us through our days.