My addiction to writing has taken
me over. It’s like it’s a placebo, a balm
(bomb!) to make me feel better about
myself. So why should I feel guilty
about that? What’s so bad about
feeling good about yourself? Somehow
it seems I can’t go without writing
and still feel like the day was ok,
complete, you know?
Why should I care? I worry too much
about everything. My brain is
screwed on crooked or something.
It wants to make unhappiness
out of every lemon I perceive happening.
I work too hard at becoming
unhappy, discontent, complaining
about my lot. A lot of nothing
results except what I don’t
This whole page is an example of
all that. So I want to write
what’s inside & that’s what’s
inside. My impatience with
myself. My always wanting a
problem–creating one if I have to
to give me something to do &
prevent me from just feeling
as happy as I am at times
with no problems to solve,
nothing on the horizon–
just clear sailing.