What if my writing is only fueled by pain, depression, and fear? As I get better at dealing with my depression, I may lose the red eye who cast everything in such a terrific color. Why am I worried about this? I didn’t write a poem yesterday. I can’t write one right now. I must be overreacting. Look, see, I’m writing at this moment. Oh listen, there’s insecurity knocking!
4 Reasons Why to Go to Work
- Future me will have less work
- I’ll distract myself from this mental masturbation
I’m not proud of what I do. I want to tell people I’m a writer and let that be the dialogue that is “Andrea.” Gosh, things were so good and how they’ve somehow changed. Am I just making up reasons to be sad? Am I being dramatic?
Okay, game plan-hip hop music, get dressed, pack lunch, get outside before I change my mind.