Conceited.

It's evident that I've neglected to write lately. I don't even remember the last time I wrote anything.

Not snippets of my monologue like this, but writings. I'm not making much sense here am I.

I have moments of revelation, becoming highly inspired to write but these moments are as fleeting as their occurrences. It would seem that I'm climbing into a comfortable cocoon, becoming lazy and complacent.

Alas, my worst nightmare comes true.

Utter.

Is it better to not try at all than to experience such gut-wrenching defeat?

Do or do not.

Dammit.

Downtrodden.

It seems awkward. Typing, writing, blogging. Again, after innumerable periods of inactivity.

It is like I've forgotten how to do this. An incoherent phrase here and there.

It feels both strangely alien and oddly familiar. Trying to come up with something witty.

I think I've lost it.

2015.

I'm afraid it's time for another customary post on the first day of the new year.
Like last year. Exactly.
This time, unlike last time, will be it.

I want it to be it. 
How? No freaking clue.
Having the best intention doesn't equate results when you lack the proper skills.

It's still the first.
Happy new year!

A Very Short Monologue.

Are you ready?
No.

Will you ever be?
Afraid not.

Why not?
How does one begin to deem oneself to be ready?

Now that's a good one. I think you start by not calling yourself oneself. It sounds pretentious and bitchy. Then you just man up and freaking wing it. Until it feels right.
Then you're ready.
Oh.