I can’t write well tonight.
I love my own big, soft, luxurious bed.
I was there in Pyne, sitting on the bench, or on the pebbly steps, or on a rock beside the brook. I was really there, not just in my daydreams. It seems unreal. The time went by too quickly as always. I want to go back there.
I realized that I am unhappy and have lost the ability to truly relax and enjoy. There were only very short moments of it and they took a lot of work. I am full of fears and doubts and regrets and self-consciousness instead of the lightness, hope and joy of last year. I don’t like myself, I think I’m not good enough, not successful and confident enough, not worldly enough, not popular and wealthy and experienced enough.
But i did relax in spite of it. I slept a lot and had vivid dreams and let myself detach from work and my everyday mindset a little bit. And I saw my reflection in unfamiliar mirrors and window panes and thought I looked pretty and quite thin many times. I drove through wild and mountainous landscapes and tried to fill myself with their freedom and beauty and to let my mind-fog blow away. It worked to some extent, although I again felt that it wasn’t enough, that I wasn’t relaxing enough, not conscious and aware enough, not thinking pure enough thoughts. I need to get over these extreme expectations of myself. I will NEVER fulfill them all and they make me miserable.