The anxiety of writing honestly.
There’s this flux about me lately, and I’m not particularly sure where it is coming from either. So, instead of not writing, which is almost not conceivable, there’s a preponderance of these strange single line entries consisting of a random string of letters and numbers.
I suppose I’m just no longer comfortable with raw emotion being available to view by just anyone that happened by or puts a search string into google for that matter. Plus it goes back to not wanting my journal to be the primary source of information about how I feel about certain people — it’s a responsibility to directly tell someone just how incredibly unhappy I am with them, or inversely, how happy I am with them.
It’ll pass, as it always does, once the confusion clears.