August 3

August 3.
Today is August 3.
It is 12:25 am and I know I need to go to  bed. I have been off for a few days and have to go to work tomorrow. Thankful I have a job to go to. I would like to be a better writer. I know it takes many hours of writing. What should I write about? memories? my cat? my future? my dreams? When I think about writing I come up with a question I want answered. Such as, why does it feel like everything around me isn't real? It is such an odd feeling. I sit outside and I watch the leaves blow in the trees and the color of the sky and I think how beautiful it looks. Who am I to sit and be apart of this world? What is my place in it? The other day I was thinking how nice it would be to just enjoy life without always feeling like I have a major decision to make. Just to be able to relax and enjoy the trees. Is it security? At times I grow tired of life, the constant feeling of being a failure. I realize that my thoughts and feelings are a result of my depression. Well, good night.