I start things. I stop halfway through. I curse forms. I glare. I want to "See the Sun". I watch Mad Men instead. I try to dress ála Joan. I fail. I paint my nails. I have gathered all my memories from Japan and try to consolidate them into a single scrap book of sorts. I - I want to say "I fail", but it's not true. It's a success. I find that my memories can be transferred to paper and stored between textile bound covers. I listen to songs of the melancholic variety. I always do that, though. I find things amusing. I find other things tragic. I believe in changes, I fail to accomplish them. I daydream. I paint my nails again. I look at my phone. I check Facebook. I curse Facebook. I check it again. I try Twitter. Twitter rubs me the wrong way, still. "I Will Follow You Into The Dark". I whistle a descant to a song I've never heard before. I find a lost memory that needs to go in my scrap book. I clean the bathroom. I consider cleaning my room. I don't. I'm chilly, and realize that I'm wearing too much clothes to be cold. I would no longer be cold if I'd really cleaned the bathroom like I said I did. I will. I think "You Could Be Happy". I know I will be. I just don't know if it will be every second of every day. I think that's okay. I laugh. I do that a lot, even if I don't always find what I'm laughing at very funny. I am tired of my new projects already. I miss being somewhere, being something, someone. I paint my nails again. I wonder briefly what "Casimir Pulaski Day" is. I google it. I could post a link, but you can google it too. I consider opening up Photoshop, but the mere idea is exhausting me. I think the logic of Photoshop as a program is severely skewed. I still see the appeal, and I find it inspiring that even small abilities can do great things. I will have to practice again tomorrow. I need to clean the bathroom now. I want to procrastinate some more first.
But then I can't find a way to incorporate "Detlef Schrempf" in any logical way in a sentence that start with the word "I".