i am sitting down to write about my adventures to lisbon this weekend it’s monday late morning now and my body is sore from walking the endless hills that make up the streets of lisbon ive spent all morning laying around and reading dismissing any guilt that arose from this all of thus said walking, is far more than i have been used saturday was like 24,000 + steps which may have been something quite simple in the past, but is new since feeling better lets just say i haven't

i look at myself in the same mirror i did here in portugal a year ago and it feels like i am in a completely different body than i was then this makes my skin itch my natural instinct is to think: how do i fix this? what do i do? i guess this voice still lives somewhere within me i write this blog with you knowing that this topic may be just as sensitive to you as it is to me but nothing. i do nothing. i let the urge come and then i let it go. i stand here, i let it be uncomf

it’s 7:30am as i am writing this. i woke up around 4:30 and couldn’t fall back asleep. since then i have eaten breakfast, watched my show, read my book, had coffee, and laid down with my eyes closed to at least get a bit more rest. then i had the urge to write one day when i was, again, laying in the grass i was wondering, frustratingly, how i can feel this content and at peace yet still be so self critical sometimes what do i have to do? because it isn’t a specific body type

i write this to you as i lay under the olive tree on the front lawn writing in my journal first then to be typed out later thats if i can organize my thoughts of course it has not even been a week yet and already i can’t understand how i lived in such a way before i wake up in the morning and step outside onto my grandparents back porch and i can see all of the small town in the distance there is usually a layer of fog. everything is quiet. just a few roosters and birds sin