I am almost never bored. Moments like these, where I am, happen when my brain is so restless, I can't focus on anything.
I ran out of things to watch on Hulu. I have no first draft to write; I've come to the weakest part of my WIP; I swear to god I might be ADHD.
I don't know what to blog. There's too much I could talk about. There's too much in my fucking head. I've been all over the place in coming to slow, eternal terms with my gender identity, the endless process. I'm almost jealous of non-writers, of the cisgendered, of the heternormative. It seems like life would be so easy if I wasn't a million different odd things most people aren't.
Would I change it? No. Not ever. The pain is worth the lack of dullness, even if I'll never be at peace.
But, God, oh God, I could use a single day where things were easy. Just a little vacation from myself.
I can find serenity in truly not thinking, but in being myself, never.