There was a time when I LOVED writing in my
journal. The act of writing gave me such comfort. Why has my life gotten
to a place/time where writing, the time for writing, is no longer
available to me?
My life is in a stressed place. There simply is never enough time. I don't understand or want this level of "busyness" in my life. I hate feeling like I never have time to rest and relax. I don't remember this feeling as much in Austin.
Of course in Austin, I had my own washer/dryer and didn't have to run around doing laundry. I didn't work till hours after dark (I started in the dark and left work in the light). I guess it's just a matter of adapting. However, it FEELS like I have more to do in less time.
My life is in a stressed place. There simply is never enough time. I don't understand or want this level of "busyness" in my life. I hate feeling like I never have time to rest and relax. I don't remember this feeling as much in Austin.
Of course in Austin, I had my own washer/dryer and didn't have to run around doing laundry. I didn't work till hours after dark (I started in the dark and left work in the light). I guess it's just a matter of adapting. However, it FEELS like I have more to do in less time.
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