I could never be a writer because I don't have anything worth saying.

I fail in so many ways, every day.

I fail over and over and over. Like Groundhog Day. Sometimes in the same ways and sometimes differently. Sometimes just for spite.

I'm cranky and irritable and depressive and angry.

I don't pay enough attention to my cat.

I'm more patient and kind and compassionate than I was a year ago, but when will it be enough?