I used to sit here without any emotion and would be able to write for days at a time, simply twisting words and phrases into poetic symphonies--at least in my own opinion... Now with all these feelings of stress, sorrow, and anxiety have no place in my writing structures. I can't write the way I used to, but maybe that's a good thing. I see writing more as a tool to express what you feel rather than: hypothesize, organize, analyze, and then compose. Basically it's not suppose to be rehearsed, you just say it.
Day after day I'm faced with a new challenge to an old problem and it just kills me. And every time I get around that problem, a new one births itself on my "new path". It is indeed a tragedy. Tragic. Rhymes with magic, but it certain isn't that magic found in a fairy tale, heavens no. I think society does an excellent job of setting children up to fail when they reach the real world; mainly for that fact that they get babied time and time again. Do I feel like I've been babied? Well, I suppose. But I also feel like I am a lot further along than some people I've come across over the years... Rambling, one of my "best" habits.
Whenever all of these depressing notions come to mind, I say hey! I'm an optimist, so you can go away. It works about eighty percent of the time, but that extra twenty percent is a fucking bitch to deal with. Looking at this little piece of bullshit note that I call my own writing, I start to feel upset with myself because there's no point and it's all a mess. Some writer I am... ha. All I know is, that through all of this bullshit. No matter how thick it may get. I will always see that little spec of light and I will never give up the battle.
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