Lately, a.k.a the last six weeks or so, I've been having this problem where I've been feeling uninspired to continue anything I had in progress. Or no, perhaps uninspired isn't the word. It's more shame? Disappointment?
I've been getting sadder lately, more down than I've been ever and yet not down at all, in the grand scheme of things. I suppose writing is hard and I read what I wrote before and...disgust, I'm kind of disgusted by what I've written and I feel like a failure. The last time I properly wrote an update for anything on here was four months ago because I've lost whatever muse I had in the first place.
This entry is going to be kind of ridiculously ramble-y but then so will any blog entry I put in here because I'm using it as some sort of journal. If nothing makes sense here I suppose it's because this is more for me than for you and it always will be. I write for me too, but I'm working on self-indulgence. It's an icky thing. Yeah, I was taking about my terrible rambling nature and the way my thoughts go off on tangents and so I hope this makes sense because this isn't poetry or prose this is just me talking and repeatedly getting distracted but trying to get some shit off my chest.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this, I hope to give any reader of any of my stories some sort of closure if you happen to stumble across this and I'm also saying, no, nothing I've posted here before will be posted publicly again but hey if you want to read it message me here, or on my tumblr which is linked on my profile and I'll send you it because I'm not mean, I just don't want that out there any more. I'm recalling all of the faulty products in the hope of producing something closer to perfect and with fewer health hazards.
Shitty metaphors aside, if you read this, thank you and I think the best way to finish this is with a quote,
"You know something? Most days, I'm not even sure what I'm upset about."
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