your unique features aren't all that special.

Dear you,

I really need to stop chewing on my pen and staring blankly at my canvas.

Because here's the thing: Until I put my pen down, not a damn thing is going to get done.

I can stare at this canvas all I want and I can tap my pen against my teeth as much as I want and I can get as many spots of ink on my fingertips as I want but that is not going to change the fact that this goddamn canvas is still blank.

Besides, the dents I'm leaving can't be good for my pen.

Honestly I don't have to put anything on my canvas. I can procrastinate it all I want because there aren't going to be any real-world consequences. No one is going to fail me, no one is going to scold me. My canvas is just going to stay blank and I will just remain unsatisfied and generally displeased.

But then again, when am I not unsatisfied and generally displeased?

I'm not happy with my body and I'm not happy with my brain and I'm not happy with my food intake and I'm not happy with my head and I'm not happy with my hair and I'm not happy with my teeth and I'm not happy with my legs and I'm not happy with the lack of scars where I should have them and I'm not happy with my heart and especially not my bones but most of all I'm not happy with this blank canvas.

No one is going to care if I leave this canvas blank and no one is going to care that I'm dissatisfied with all of it, because that's just how it's always been. It's gotten to the point where it's a pleasant surprise when I produce something new and am not scowling. People are pleasantly surprised. I don't like that. I don't like that I'm not known as someone who can be happy, as someone who is productive with their life.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm sorry I can't be anything other than myself.

And I'm sorry that I'm nothing but a procrastinating asshole who doesn't know what it means to be funny anymore and the only small talk I can make is about food.

Sincerely (or not so much),
xx
Blue