I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

It will be a few days before I write again. I could bring this along, but I feel that what I need to deal with these next few days would be better said then scribbled. Perhaps I can come to terms with whatever is bothering me. A happy medium or caution to the wind should be found somewhere. But talking about this uncomfortableness isn’t enough. Talk is just talk and there is a point where a person can talk too much. Just do, please. If something happens, and you didn’t think about it, then let it happen. Feel like crying because I can’t deal. The problem is that I assume that something will happen eventually. That’s not the truth. Things will only go down if we let them happen. The true problem is that I don’t know what I want. Once I get used to being in the place I am, or making some kind of call as to what I’m going to do, then the problem will be solved. Uncomfortableness is so – uncomfortable. Indecision will some day drive me insane. Just do.

I’d just like to mention at this time that neither of the girls was pressing me for an answer in any way. All this confliction I’m having is completely self-driven.