brain dump, respectfully
I love writing about what’s happening. I think the most probable reason that I have never openly talked about my feelings and emotions to any human (except my family, of course) is because I just write them down most of the time. Most of the time, I am writing about one thing and it leads to another, and I don’t mind that at all.
Like all these years, I just wrote in random small diaries whenever I felt like it, but this year your girl got a diary: an old-style one, the kind you’ll see your grandfather writing all the hisaab and all in. I saw mine do so, yeah. I love those diaries. I love diaries in general, but I am becoming picky about them day by day.
Also, your girl is reading Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. Wait, that sounds like a good start to this new year, but your girl is literally dozing off every two seconds she gets free, and what is happening with my sleep schedule? What happened to Supriya, who used to wake up at 5 a.m. every morning? BLAHHH, good old days.
