HIGHWAY TO THE CUDDLE ZONE

I wrote a poem yesterday. I think if I could write one really, truly great poem a week, I'd be much happier than writing two or three so-so poems a day. I don't know how Neruda disciplined himself or how he went about editing his work. I guess he was just an insane genius of a writer. I always tend to go for the uncalculated approach. It's leaving me empty these days.

Life without depression is so colorful. I find myself digging into hobbies I haven't touched in months or years, and I often get the urge to do something spontaneously creative. I dug out some old journals and started writing in them again. And I'm taking photos again. And I'm really craving some hands-on artwork involving paper and glue. I think me and the girls should get together for jewelry night and make stupid necklaces.

And this is the part when I erase all the personal crap I wrote because it's too personal for the internet.