Get it together

I've always worn a nightgown to bed, but sleeping in my underwear seems to have become a co-occurrence with my feeling stressed out. I've been doing it more often lately, and frequently on nights where I've been despairing over homework or something else.

Yesterday was a nightmare, and I actually didn't feel hungry at all. By the time I dragged myself out the door to meet with the girls in Tivoli around 3.30 pm I'd only eaten an apple. I had so been looking forward to the chirros, so I had one of those... and a cup of hot cocoa. And a fruit skewer with dark chocolate coating. But I was not hungry.

I have to write this stupid feature story about my stupid gymnasium, and it's all just so stupid, and I just want it to be the 23rd so I can get on holiday. I can't wrap my head around the feature because it has to be about my gymnasium, in which I haven't been too invested besides. I just know it's going to turn out depressing at this rate. 

M is my partner in all of this, but I feel like she's not talking to me at all. Suddenly one afternoon she's got it figured out, after I, that very same morning, asked her if she had any ideas at all and she said she didn't. If she had an epiphany why not share? Because she's not a sharer. I've known her since we were kids, and I guess I should have learned this by now. I love her to bits, and she's possibly the most creative person I know, but why am I not worthy? Aren't I worthy of her thoughts or does she just forget? Either way I'm frustrated, but of course it's not her fault that I can't write like this.

And I don't feel like eating now. I don't feel like doing anything, other than... wait for it... W R I T E. I want to just bring my laptop with me to a remote place and release all of my excess insanity. Being a person is getting too complicated. Why can't I just be an author?