Trust me, I am a writer

 Got even with all this crap and finally sat down to write “I’m here.” And yet, yes, only when I write do I think that the day was filled with the future, or kinda of, or that it was not idle. Well, this is the feeling when the day has passed, albeit happily (well, I have only happy days, my beloved ones are close at hand), but as if you did nothing that day. No matter what I did, no matter what I was doing, if I didn’t write that day, I feel like I didn’t do anything. Like, it was only a productive day if I wrote.