Wow.  This was kind of a fucked up couple weeks.

Not gonna go into it; I have some shame.  Some.

Gorge on provisions from self-acceptance and unadulterated fear and you compromise the ways to deal with the demons that rear at the most inopportune times, or how to manage the updrafts, or how to glide albatross in your own doldrums.  It’s tempestuous at best, debilitating at worst and I’m not managing them well lately, but that’s totally on me.  There’s lots of reasons, mostly internal.  Those that are external need to stay there and I’m remembering why I have been perfectly fine with that; I keep them at arm’s length for a reason.

I also use semicolons too much.  *shrug*

The thing is, shit like this happens, but it’s not for lack of trying. Sometimes the barbarians scale the walls and you’ve got to beat them back before you can restore order.  Other times, you’ve got conspirators in your midst.  Right now, I’m sweeping up the shards of the stained glass windows and saging the room from the stink of insurrection.  All in good time.


Someone’s been reading a lot of Byzantine History.


So this writing-a-book thing.  It was starting to get me down ’cause saw no progress.  Now it’s pissing me off.  I hate being told that I can’t do something, can’t have something.  The moment someone else has it, I wonder why I didn’t see its value.  I see a story to be told, and fuck all if I’m not going to tell it.  I seriously won’t let myself debilitate myself.  It’s ridiculous.

So I’ll keep trying.  I’ll keep sitting here, trying to figure out how to put words to paper, trial, tribulation, bullshit and angst all in the course of a few hours a night.

Lucky you:  If i’m not writing there, I’m writing here and this gets blasted with piss.

It’s gotta land somewhere.



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