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Sunday, December 4, 2016

Seventh grade, bitches.

Boy,  when i think about writing for someone else, i feel an awful lot of pressure. Boy.  Pressure of the internal 'you really suck' variety.  And a huge resistance, as if editing my work, or changing my  Words were some kind of chastisement to a god given gift, when really it is just a fear that my first try wasn't perfect, not good enough.... that i'm not instantaneously recognized as a literary or some sort of genius.  Damn the man.

Its pretty amazing how deep the resistance goes though, its almost hard to think about, like some spell laid by the evil seventh grade bitch who first called me not cool enough. And that bitch lives inside my head, and has taken over a large part of my inner world for a long time.
Its an Overlaid webbing, coloring a lot of the things that i have done in the past, the things i do in the present.

I think most women that I know still recognize that bitch, know her pretty well at this point, but not well enough to be compassionate towards, although even the suggestion puts me back on a better path. Poor thing, she's got her own bitch living in there, too.

Funhouse mirrors baby.

As far as the writing goes, I've slowed down to dire levels. Not even journaling this amazingly challenging year, and I feel like I'm going../ I already know that I am sorry for it. There is so much going on internally, and it is a loss that so many things will have slipped away without a record.

Blaghblah. Trying to push through .
Love you, see you soon. Hopefully.

Wmx

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