I Don’t Like When I Can’t Figure Out What To Write…

 

… yet have so many ideas in my head.  I stared at my WP for the past two days.  Open to a new post, but without ability to know what to write about.  Not hungry, but hungry, not introverted, but introverted, not sure what I feel like all together.  Not even sure if I’m going through that MP stage right now or not.  Not sure who I am becoming, but a big part of me, aside from the wrinkles and sagging body parts, is liking it.  I’m becoming feisty, creative, generally happy except for my financial situation.  I am me.  I am the me that was locked inside during the years of bulimia.  Held it in, ate it, threw it up.  Never let this part of me exist or grow, other than at times in an outburst.  So this is about all I can write at this time because it’s Sunday night, and I am tired.  Sleepy.  Brain doesn’t like to sleep, but body does.  Always at wits with each other.  Someday I’ll get that right. 🙂

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