Sometimes I look at my old stuff- my writings, drawings, internet bookmarks, books I liked- and wonder who I was, what I was thinking. I don't know what sort of person I used to be. It's sort of scary to realize that I forget myself as much as I forget other people, but I guess this is what people mean by living in the moment? It's not as freeing as I had hoped.
There should be a ban on blogging when I'm feeling dramatic.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment