It's only the second day, though feels like forever. Living accompanied with only the vest blue sky and the vest blue ocean drives me crazy. We are creatures of the land. One of the biggest challenge is the fear and insecurity that grows from inside of you when surrounding by only water. Sailing alone......

    Yeah, it's obvious now. One more reason yet that I can't keep a journal is that I don't always have something to write about. It's the second day, I'm already forcing myself to write something. The result of the forcing is this bullshit. I mean, a lonely sailer? That's just homosexual.

    I couldn't think much today. Most of the thought I had today was about the freedom I'm losing for this new roommate. She's cool and friendly and surely not ugly, I have no problem with her, but my bathroom! Gosh, it looks weird with all those bottles and smells... Where my manly bathroom goes? Where? Where are you! O! manly bathroom? It used to smell like cologne... but it is no more.

    I want to move out more than ever... God! Help me! Yeah, I know you're not going to help me on this... because I don't believe in you and so going to hell. In fact, I'm afraid of the church. I'm afraid of God. I'm afraid of believing in God. It's the fear of intimacy... Let's not start that again.

    Anyways, nothing to write about. Tomorrow is the first day of the fucking semester. First class is at 8:00 a.m., and I'm in no mood of school. Right now, I just want to destroy stuff. In addition to that, I also want to sleep, so, go to bed, I am...

    You call that a journal entry? Psh, shut up, it's mine.

    Many, many, many times, I couldn't remember how many times, have I tried to keep a journal but never, even once, had the attempts last for more than 3 entries. One of the reason I can think of, which took me a lot of time to figure out, is the fear of intimacy. You see, a person is supposed to be widely open and sincerely truthful when the person writes in his journal. Which means keeping a diary is a process of self-disclosure. Self-disclosure is a path to intimacy. What happens is I'm afraid that one day I'll become so attached to the journal, or become too close to my diary, and for that reason, I can't keep a journal. Seriously, that's the real reason. Lazy-as-hell-ness and shot attention span has nothing to do with it. It's the fear of intimacy,man.

    I don't think anyone will be reading this except myself, but if you are reading this, you must be excessively bored (welcome to my world) , and you should believe what I say: I can't keep a journal, not because I'm lazy as hell, but simply for my fear of intimacy.

    As I write/type this, a few minutes ago, I began to really think about the reason, I mean, another reason why I cannot keep a journal. The fear of intimacy is for sure, because it sounds serious enough to be a reason, and it's easy enough to bull shit about. I need some more reasons though, for fear of intimacy is hard to fix. So another reason that I can't keep a journal, I need. I think I've never thought about the reason I even keep a journal. I just thought it would be something nice to have. But this time is different, as different as any other time that I tried to keep a journal - they were all somewhat different. A person doesn't just "decide" to keep a journal. He must be hurt in a certain way (e.g. getting dumped by one's significant other) or taken some sort of damage (e.g. getting layoff) or received some kind of impact (e.g. survived a car accident). What makes this time so different is that nothing terrible really happened. I didn't get dumped (I'm single...). I'm still employed. No car is crashed, and my house is nice and not on fire. I just think... um... it'll... be.. nice... to keep... a journal... yeah...

    Too many thoughts fly through my restless mind every fucking day. Many of the thoughts retains in my mind, but also, plenty of them are gone. The idea is to keep as much thought as possible. Who knows, someday this journal may become something that actually worth to read. I don't expect much from this journal. In fact, I don't expect anything from it. It can be as trashy as a piece of trash, or eventually become a treasure. Who knows.

    Oh, by the way, my walking-around-the-house-in-my-underwear days officially end today since the tenant moved in. I was astonished to see so many girly stuff in the restroom an hour ago when I got home. The restroom used to be mine... MINE!!! It's a precious space where a man can truly express himself... and now... it's gone... so sad.