almost end of march.

i like the feeling of clicking on "new post" like setting new dirt on my field. i feel ready to translate what i have inside and evaluate with what i see outside, and reap its fruits. i do have to say, i intentionally avoided coming to blog though my curious side kept urging me to see how everyone's been doing. i did not want to admit that i've been seeing my own reflection grow dimmer and blend to my walls. i blame the ticking clock for dessicating the oil it me that used to run so smoothly through my veins now it's too viscous like honey it's taking its time. i want to just sit down without worrying about my posture and my imbalance of thought. my mind has been so occupied, not with new enlightening thoughts, but of old. flashbacks that abduct me without noise. i think it's because i've been reading sylvia plath's the Bell Jar. recounting recounting and recounting every action and word that leads to another tale and another event...