F***

Sometimes I just want to say that word. F***. I won't even allow myself to write it. Not sure why. I've just always been reluctant to curse. But I say it to myself.

Things are piling up again. Little things, but lots. And a few big things. Or potentially big things? I don't know anymore.

I hate all the complications. I hate having to maneuver around everyone's feelings. I hate that things can never just be simple. Will I ever get use to it?

Sometimes I just want to forget.

I hate dealing with stupidity. Yet knowing that it can happen to anyone, including myself, makes me need to be patient with it. Yet that's annoying. The stupidity itself is annoying, and the needing to not be upset about it is annoying. What am I trying to say? I don't even know anymore.

I almost just went to bed because I feel so tired. Physically and mentally. But I had this part of me that couldn't go to bed without writing something. I need to record something here. I feel that urge more and more. Maybe for my future self? For others? Not sure.

Maybe just the act of writing here makes everything worth it. It makes it more real and more worthy? Otherwise everything just fades into nothingness, and all that I've gone through means nothing. But at least writing it here and preserving it makes it something? I think it's something like that.