Why won't I think of anything to say.
Self-improvement is a thing for me right now. I said it aloud the other day and it was only then I realized it: by saying there's too much hypocrisy, I was myself guilty of it. It's got me internal. In most aspects of my life, I complain. Mostly I complain about myself.
That makes it okay, yeah? Well it gets dull. It makes life dull, and I want a story to tell.
There's a lot of opposition in me, which usually makes for good writing, but I don't know how to say it. But I like you. And I'm gonna try to be nicer.
I get most dissatisfied at night. Old habits. These habits die or die hard but come back again and another again. Bleh.
It's not night. It's one in the afternoon.