Inside This Mind.

02.24.2005 * 10:41 p.m.
A mean old biddy.

This is me not writing my 8 page paper that is due in my Buddhism class on Monday. 8 pages double-spaced isn't that long. 8 pages double-spaced really shouldn't be that hard to bust out. Alas, I am a slow writer, I lack sufficient motivation, and I procrastinate. Put that all together and you end up with less than a page of notes, some books scattered on my desk, and one sentence on a nicely headed Microsoft Word document. One sentence! That's all I have convinced myself to write in the past day. Granted I was at work the majority of my waking hours today, but still. All I really have to do is tell myself (in a firm, but loving voice) to write my freaking paper, and I will. But I frankly do not have the desire to do so right now. And so I am here. As usual.

I don't know why I am what I am. I don't know why my natural inclination is to be rude and hurtful to the people I care most about. It's sick and I don't like it. Maybe my dad's stupid saying: "I only hurt the ones I love" applies to me too. Maybe my dad gave me all of the genes coding for his traits that I most strongly dislike. The way we clash, that sounds probable. Either way, it's lame.

I'm sorry for every time I'm hurtful.