My mind is in turmoil. I have to think, think, think. Think of solutions. Think of aids. Think of anything which will fix this life.
But hope abounds if we know where to look. He is there up above.
I then get my pen and fix my mind through writing. Those before us have told us that writing is a therapy. I don't want to argue with that. Now, at least. Or ever. I hate arguments, those upfront I mean. Because my mind in in argument always.
I look at my family and paint a smile on my face. I have to. My health is their health. If I am caught crying, they, too, will cry. And so I have to smile. And not fake it. I have to be genuine. And to make it genuine I have to really fix my mind.
I love the sound of the rain. It helps me to have more time on my device. Instead of doing house chores at this time, I am here, writing. And so I love the rain. There have to be reasons for us to love it as well, despite the wreckages it has caused time immemorial. And we have to admit, we have to do our role in order to minimize its effects (bad effects).
I would like for me to make it a habit, writing and composing and giving value to others. Yet, sometimes, I get lazy. And when I do have the courage, I tend to lose all my words. So practice. Practice. Practice is what I will do.
There is no excuse. If a person wants something, there are a lot of remedies. So there is no excuses. There should be no excuses.
Let me end this here. Just very short for now.
