I woke up thinking what I'm supposed to write here today. I can write about my bookshelf and my to-be-read book pile. Or about the pictures scattered over my bed. Maybe I can write about the curtains in my room - they used to be white, they're now beige.
Do you think having sausage for breakfast is interesting? What about leaving the house without earrings and a phone (and feeling butt naked just thinking about it)? Would you like to know about the huge world map inside my Grandfather's room? He had it beautifully framed. I think he wanted to travel the world but he was too afraid to ride a plane.
Most days I'm excited to write. Lately it has been a chore: a fulfillment of a commitment I've made.
I'll try again tomorrow.
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