sirravennekros

I post now after having been prouctive for the first time in roughly a week. The events of the past weeks have driven any desire to do something clean out of me. I feel dazed, like I was punched in the face, everything slightly out of focus and I can't seem to figure out how I got to facing the way I am now.
But I've been productive today. Not to suggest that I've shaken off the pall I'm under. But I could not stand to continue to have my apartment a mess. So I did my dishes, clean the kitchen, and now I'm getting ready for work. But I had to stop and post. Few people glance at this journal. Fewer still ever return to see if something new has been posted. But that's okay. I can deal with that. It's life.
Why post, though, in a journal no one reads?
I have no idea. And yet my fingers are typing. Urged on by my mind.

I cannot continue to be unproductive. A man does not stand still, he either moves forward, or he moves back. Lack of productivity means I'm back-sliding. I cannot have that...
I will not live forever...