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I’m conflicted.  Again.  I always am.  I constantly second-guess myself, question my perceptions, and condemn my own actions.  I dream of a life far from myself, but I don’t really think I’m capable of such things, and, when I think of what I am now–what I have–I know that I’ll never be happy, and I get so very, very low.  Shit.  I’m being vague again.

I don’t write because I tell myself that everything I produce is shit.  I’m afraid that I’ll never be any better than that swotty little 15-year old–who read so much, was overly dramatic and oh so pretentious–and could only manage to produce overblown vignettes filled with clichés and her own naivety.  I want the things I create to be beautiful.  I want everything I do to be the best there is.  I want to be perfect, and I am definitely not perfect.

Dear readers, I’m truly sorry for such a melancholic, self-absorbed, and piteous post.  I just needed to get that off my chest.  I promise, next time, you’ll see the happy.

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About The Drunken Spinster

Aspiring writer. Lazy Bum. Shameless self-promoter. Sneaker pimp. View all posts by The Drunken Spinster

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