The First

Let's get this straight, I'm only doing this because I have to. I've tried journaling before with hopes of relieving my internal monologue, to find it only encourages it. If I could get away with faking this project maybe I would. Now, on to the grueling self-indulgence...

Everyday is a new day. You can tell yourself that, but to what affect? Will you rise earlier and make pancakes in honor of this fresh dawn, or rush off to chores left undone by the end of the last "new day"? Will you skip class to walk by the river, pick flowers, make eyes at an interesting stranger, or what have you? Perhaps, you'll simply go to class and focus really fucking hard.
As this new day closes I worry I've made the wrong choices. I rose early from disturbing dreams to curse my mother and the cold. I made breakfast slow and patiently. Moving from the TV to the kitchen to the TV eating as I went. I watched Saturday morning cartoons, sipped coffee in the garden, drove to rehearsal and nearly wrecked several times. I meditated, played, forgot my lines, and wore myself out. When I cried the tears weren't of me, but came from me. It was the fear of failure seeping out to settle just a little farther away. I drug myself to the car, came home, and made dinner slow and patiently. I moved from the TV to the kitchen to the TV to the computer eating as I went, listlessly. I came to rest here three and a half hours left and counting. Exciting? No.
I shouldn't punish myself at so soon a juncture for I do not know how I live, nor how I should be living. The frame of reference is as of yet too small to make comparisons. Answers lie in the future, and I eagerly await a brand new day.

[Edt. Is this enough? Fingers crossed!]