Sunday, July 3, 2011


Nothing, not even the thought of nuclear holocaust, makes me more depressed than thinking of all of the books I will never get around to reading.

My ability to write is subject to mood swings. One minute it's like, "Yeah! You CAN write! And you should! Here is a shit ton of inspiration!" And the next minute it's all, "alkdlkjxcvoew dk asdk kvjlkzdfo pgpob.lkao." Well, goodness.

So how do I let others take care of me? If you have any ideas, suggestions, or warnings, throw them my way. And by "throw" I mean "gently toss." I have never been the best at catching things.

Everything has been and always will be delicate. Everything is resting on a breath, on a branch.

Me, currently.

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