Everything in life is writable.
I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
The truth comes to me. The truth loves me.
When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.
It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just to think of it.
Read widely of others' experiences, even if it'd be more comfortable to snuggle back in the comforting cotton-wool of blissful ignorance.