Blah. I am sleeping too much.

I have a weekend full of plans I didn't make to look forward to.

Stretch marks look like scars, except they're silver. I like mine. I like to trace them. I also enjoy the soft fuzzy hair on my shoulders, and the small indent between my belly button and my pelvic bone. Sometimes simply existing within my body makes me feel safe.

Yesterday I felt fearless. Steel and diamond and unbreakable. But also ruthless. Which I don't want to be. I should worship spontaneity, though, and seize the moment when those fits of fearlessness come.

Today I am not fearless. Today I am simply blah.

Blah.