anything i do other than school and work is considered play. it’s as if these activities are less important than school and work. there’s this overwhelming sense of guilt when i prioritize “fun” things. and then i stop and think…these activities are part of living. why feel guilty for living? why feel guilty because i take pleasure in being with someone or doing things that complete the other parts of my life? i always bemoan the fact that i’ve lived such a narrow and closed life. there’s not much room to do anything else if self-reproach seeps into everything outside of two activities.

i'm not perfect, and i say this but i know the guilt will come later on tonight or tomorrow.

but i'll try.

i don’t know why it hit me so hard.

what is more disappointing than not making a difference at all? it is not making a particular difference.

from my talented friend:

sugar crystal frost
flakey donut residue
breakfast aftermath

legitimate.

it’s when you lack legitimacy that makes you afraid of losing what little you have, and prevents you from asking for more.

what is there to hide? what are you afraid of losing? there’s no bigger loss than to live in deception.

i’m feeling a lightness that’s quite new to me.

i’ve unlocked another secret in my pattern. i’ve had this tenacious resentment against people who fail to live up to my ideal – my purpose that i’ve placed on them. yes, it’s almost like flipping a switch…but not entirely. i’ve wrestled with this development for about a week now, not knowing what’s right and what’s wrong; even more unsure about what’s middle-ground. the positive is that i truly don’t feel resentment for them anymore. indeed they will probably never be what i want them to be, but shunning them from my life and making them wrong only poisons me.

sometimes i think i know exactly why i do things but quickly enough i’m proven wrong…and that’s actually okay.

i don’t know where to turn. i’m so sad. i’m so alone.

i gain ground but suffer a twofold increase in doubt. the substance in my beliefs deteriorating as the roles around me change before my eyes -- before thoughts crystalize and words form desperate sentences.

what is wrong with me? i feel so trapped. trapped by my own misery. trapped by my own need for extremes, sadly disguised as reality.

i can’t depend on anyone yet depending on someone only leaves me disappointed.

what do you do when you can’t make decisions the “old way” anymore?

what goes around comes around.

this is quite true. i can’t say that i feel happy in being a witness to this phenomenon, but there is a wholesome satisfaction in not harboring a vindictive gratification when i get to hear the story. i actually feel sorry that she had to go through what she had once put me through. this is the second time i’ve been at the receiving end of an ironic story. perhaps it’s more my lesson learned than hers.