Starting Again

I think since I turned sixteen, I have started a new blog every eighteen months or so and deleted it within the next one to three months. I would always write the most perfect first post to explain why I had started blogging and who I was, and a bunch of flowery nonsense. It would be agonising and take me at least a few days to write because I would never know what to say.

This time - I'm twenty-two and still have no more idea about the world than when I was sixteen. Okay, maybe a tiny bit more, but a pretty small blip on the line of life experience. Half the time I think I'm broken (in a non-overly-dramatic way) trying to pretend I'm not, and then I'm dancing around on the street strutting my stuff, completely full of myself but at peace at the same time. I think people spend way too much emphasis on trying to find themselves and way too little on enjoying the ride. This time I really couldn't be bothered trying to explain where I am in my life, who I'm dating, who else I'm fucking, how torn I am between two countries or how much damn time I take enjoying long walks on the beach.

This time - fuck it. Sup.