And it’s not that I have much to say, it’s just that I’m never particularly sure how to say what I need to get off my chest. Particularly, I seem to have this problem when everything in life is going well. I can only write in misery, when I’m dealt hands of turmoil and trouble. Writing in misery seems to be drastically easier than writing when content, for instance, when malcontent writing is similar to venting. Fingers hit keys effortlessly, portraying just what it is I’m dissatisfied with (often in an abstract, and vague manors), so that I may maintain my pride, venting to faceless strangers. Contrastingly when satisfied with the life I’m leading I am, in short, out living a daily existence which I do not despise, rather than discussing it. However, I miss stroking these keys, almost sensually, to the point I wish something would bring me down. Seems I should always avoid sobriety, so that I may be “happy.”

That is all…