DAMMIT.
I've started three sentences and can't fucking focus on anything.
When I was walking home I had all these wonderful ideas form in my head and I couldn't wait to come home and ticka ticka out a blog. I walked in the door, fed the four leggeds and completely zoned out on online bingo.
I haven't done anything else for my book and the deadline I gave myself of winter is rapidly approaching and I can feel disappointment-fucking self inflicted disappointment-start to creep in because I am a master at procrastination.
Why is it so hard to be creative when things are going well? Am I destined to be one of those tortured writers that needs to be a raging alcoholic to succeed?
Can't do that...don't like the taste of the booze. Except cold beer on a hot day. Or margaritas with fajitas. Ooo or bloody marys for breakfast. Ok, so I like the taste of some booze.
I yelled at someone today and hugged someone else. I wanted to eat chocolate for lunch and actually might have it for dinner. I feel a little more sarcastic than usual and that the general public are complete idiots.
DAMMIT.
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