I feel utterly disinclined to say anything. At all. I could sit and force out a lot of crap and daylogging which would be an utter bore to read, or I could simply abandon my diary until I actually feel like talking. I have plenty to say, I just think I have become far too weary to speak any of it coherently.
Although, I am very much inclined to speak in riddles, proverbs, and enigmas. That would do me uncommonly well. It's all I really feel like writing. I am always too ill to sit long and write much.
And I have finally decided that my physical complaints are all being caused by emotional struggles and fights with passions. I suppose I sort of thought so all along, but I was not ready to say that. But now, I can offer up no other excuse. I feel utterly ridiculous, but I find that my emotions and passions will not suffer to be stifled until I feel better. I will continue to struggle heartily with them and restrain them to the best of my ability because to let them have their way, would be worse.
Ever a fool whom says nothing she really wants to say.
(Don't flatter yourself)