I picked the perfect music for me because I still "beat out" while I'm writing to the music on my page. I haven't changed it in a while. It moves me. You won't get it by listening to the words. They fit me...for now.

I've decided to name this entry Dear Diary: Sometimes I Feel Like a Meaningless Scribe Part II. I love that title! I love it the first time. Love it even more now. It's fitting for the moment. I currently am "A Meaningless Scribe".
Focus! Focus! Focus, damn it!

Another long day. Back in the swing of things. The usual bull: a bunch of nothing, turning into a full day with so many unexplainable things in between. Sometimes I feel as if the days simply run into each other. They do. It's just been one long year of meaningless crap for me. I decided to finish up some papers I've been lagging on for a while, when interrupted I was once again shut down with some bull, and folks wonder why I hoard thoughts in my head instead of sharing.

Yes. I have lingering questions inside my soul about whether I was built for this life and what card I'm being dealt now. It still continues to keep me up at night. Had a knot in my throat last week with a urge to say screw it. and so I write, simply to clear my head and keep the demons away. It’s one of the few things on this planet that I KNOW for sure and that is that my words make perfect sense to me alone. Often I question how far to go though, pacing myself as not to hurt the wrong person's feelings as I know that often my blog is an open book for my thoughts and emotions to be shared. Fortunately people don't realize how long I've left my writings undrafted in an attempt to add some slight mystery to my "little" life. Should I save it inside my brain forever? But my lingering question so often becomes: have I chosen the right words without revealing too much of my soul?

I am a private person, by nature. You think not huh? That's how private I am. (I love that line) It makes me believe I'm slightly mysterious. I tried talking it outloud be it never seems to work because I usually regret and wish I hadn't told you that and how long you'll keep it to yourself. My emotions and feelings come sweeping in like tides, swelling and rolling in massive waves inside me sometimes, and I tend to express them in a universal way. That’s my style, my thing, I guess.

A friend once told me to screw the blog cause I “don’t write with honesty." She can tell when I'm going through but refuse to convey, and so I come across as jumbled.

To that, I said: "DAMN LIE!". I write what I want you to know and the rest I write, get it out sometimes sharing and sometimes simply burning in the sink. If I come off as jumbled to you, then you are not suppose to understand. To those I speak to it's perfectly clear, more often than not, those is usually me.

Maybe I don’t give a detailed accounting of all my emotional bowel movements, but everything I write is about WHO I am, or what I feel, or what I question. That's REAL! Everything I write is about what makes my heart beat faster, or gives me a chill, or breaks my face, hurts my spirit, or fundamentally fulfills me. And truthfully, I don’t know any other way to be. I may not put it on a blog for the world to see...but I do write it at some point.

Still, Sometimes I Feel Like a Meaningless Scribe, because the world will never know. I refuse to go any deeper.

Honesty from me makes some people uneasy. It makes me uneasy - at this present time in my life. I catch myself looking in the mirror and saying "When Nesha". I'm ready - but self says "not yet". Can't go deeper.

Sometimes I feel Like a Meaningless Scribe.

I’ve prayed. I’ve purged. I’ve vented. It’s out of me!

Diary, you KNOW, I’ll never be FELT in a blog that takes 30 seconds to read. My creator made me this way: all strange and odd and slightly talented and a little cute and a little ugly and kinda deep, emotional and sad and real, confused ... and human.

Diary, it saddens me that I cannot express with words what I feel often feel and share for the masses.
What is it about these words I write?
Diary - Oh how you understand what I cannot convey.
Feel me? Of course, YOU do. That’s never been the prob.
Oh, Diary. Sometimes I feel like a Meaningless Scribe.

Disclaimer - don't be all sensitive - It's not about you - it's my blog - iWRITE what I want

That’s sad to me. I still feel the need to explain that it's about me and not about you.

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