Fail

I get itchy when I am stressed.

I am itchy right now. 

Why am I stressed? Because I don't know what to say in this blog post.

I could write about a goldfish?

I could write about a white picket fence?

I could write about dull red colored pencils?

But no. I am dull myself. 

I can't create something artsy out of those things.Or maybe I could, but it would be off the charts weird. 

Truth is I could write about a ton of things, but I just don't know if I should keep it to myself.

I don't know if this should be my journal, where I open up completely about my every thought, or if I should keep that for my journal hidden in my underwear drawer.

I don't know if I was getting anywhere with this... I started it, then stopped, take a look. 

Moldy flowers

I have flowers in my room.

Flowers from past school dances.

Flowers from boys who wanted to show they care.

Flowers from my parents, after dance recitals.

these flowers are now sitting in the corner in my room, dying away. Dying like the memories.... 

Epic fail. Rest in peace to these words that have no life or impact in them. 

I guess it was a good start to something, I just feel boring, therefore I didn't want to continue with that. 

I admire those of you in Paris. I admire the fact that you are able to make your words art. I admire that  you can share things from your brain, and have it be beautiful.

Thank you for your beautiful typed words.

I will come around, I am still in the airport to get to Paris, the flight is just delayed. 

-Isla Kirie