I blog too much I work too much. Too. Much.

I am such a freaking miser. I work instead of live. I want to travel so bad. It’s an ache in the back of my head, always. Next summer. I. am. going. somewhere. I balance on the edge of living, but I never actually do anything. I get on these riffs where I do nothing but google plane tickets.
I’ve been putting off life for so long
and you, well. you. You tell me of a girl who meant to leave and didn’t so
I swear I swear I swear up and down sideways through the gate and out the window that I’m getting out.