Being a Scorpio is hating every real testament to feelings I’ve put to text and paper and wanting to delete every past memory of idiotic feelings.

I’ve started journaling again and have much neglected this. At least ink to paper has a satisfying sensory feeling in my fingers.

Summer is here and I’ve been visiting loved ones and it’s been fine. Still a bit lonely and still stressed about the greater struggles. Otherwise I’m mostly fine. I should be content for the moment for that.

I outlined my life in the hopes that I can get this memoir done. There’s so much to recall. So far it’s going slow but going all the same.

Progress not perfection.