What's Ivana doing?

 I sometimes get caught up in thinking of other people's lives, or thinking about them and what they're probably doing. Living so far from the vibrant core of humanity it often feels like I'm nowhere, and it feels as though others have the answers. If you're reading this, Ivana, I want you to know that I think of you from time to time. 

You're probably struggling with things too, you spent your last birthday alone. I'm about to spend mine alone and fairly broke. My writing career hasn't taken off. I don't know what to say about that other than I hope for some dramatic shift, both in myself and my environment. I want to be a writer, an artist, a lover of life. The fact that I'm not feels so disappointing that I often can't care to express it. Expressing it means bringing myself into the reality that I've failed. I'd much rather play video games all night and escape the pain. I'm living alone at the moment, in a countryside abode. This place is very much unsuited to a person of culture such as myself, but at least it's cheap. At least I can support myself. Thailand is very affordable. It's just a pity that I've separated myself from the rest of humanity. 

I'm not sure what I was banging on about before. I was sure I was heading somewhere all those years ago. Some kind of fantasy that I'll be a self-supporting writer. Oh well. Maybe one day. Right now it seems like a pipe dream.