Anyways. Of all of the notebooks I've had this year - the blues, the whites and the browns - it's the current blood-red leather bound one as seen above has taken the longest to fill up. I'm unsure as to whether or not it's coincidental or subconsciously acted out (I'm beginning to suspect the latter), but regardless it's true that each book has brought with it a different set of problems, vices and insecurities (the worst of which, in my opinion, are probably contained within this one).
In May and June of this year writing has been less of a priority and yet likely more of a necessity than it has been at any other point in 2009, but something about doing it has just felt too taxing for me to work through and confront. Instead, as has been my pattern with everything from my mental health to my credit card balance, I've chosen to stick my head in the sand like a goddamn idiot of an ostrich and pretend as though nothing is wrong. Nothing. At. All. In this case such metaphorical head-sticking involves not writing all that often. Obviously. Pathetic, I know.
But to bring things back to my initial point: I'm a creature of habit and am addicted to being a person with 'follow-through', and it is for this exact reason that I can't just let the stupid thing go unfinished and move on to the next one, which I have predetermined will be full of nothing but happy summer fun and romance and sunshine and kittens and good outfits and all of that nice, positive, wonderful shit.
So...yeah. As much as I don't want to finish this one (and I reallyreallyreally don't), I have to thanks to this sick instinct in me to be honourable and give it a fair chance.
Whatever. I'm so looking forward to hitting that last page. Even if it does take me another 869490570 days to get there.