Tonight, I don't feel like writing ever again. I feel sick inside. I can't feel regret, but I do feel the sting of remorse. Why do I ever answer when someone say's 'Hi there...'? I know before I ever start typing my response that it can't end well. Why do things happen the way that they do? And why do I ache for something so volatile? I feel shackled to my own biology. Now I remember why I hide. Now I remember why I don't get involved.
Tonight I scrapped my friends list on RS; 32 'additions'. They all just clutter up my chat box and waste my time and gp anyway. I think I'll just go fishing.
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Studies on The Quiet Life.
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