letters.

dear self,
you've really been slacking lately. i read some of your old journal entries yesterday, and i'm not gonna lie, i liked reading them. remember, self, when everyone would tell you what a good writer you were, and you were like, 'shut it guys!'? come on. i know you remember. well, you're an asshole. they were right. you were really not that bad. pretty good, one might even say.
then what happened to you? you didn't get a different brain; all those thoughts must still be in there somewhere! where are they? your journals are much less fun to read these days. maybe its because you just dont write anymore. well, self, what is it that you're so busy doing that leaves no time for cleverness? making smoothies? getting laid? facebooking? listening to bad music? how many of those are valid? um... NONE. maybe you just need a new pen to motivate you. or 26-hour days. or the ability to function on 4 hours sleep every night without it eventually leading to a breakdown.
well, self, i'm sure you have smoothies to make or bad music to listen to, so i won't keep you. just know that i believe that deep down, you still have the ability to be clever and interesting. maybe do something about that.
have a good night, and i love you very much.
sincerely,
yourself.