I am so fucking indecisive right now. I am pissed about some decisions and trying to figure it all out. Creatively I am stagnant in my flair. I'm complacent and practically starving for fresh outlets. Writing isn't stirring the muse from her sleep. Adventure and whimsy are gone, and I am eager to try my paw at some thing else. I'm not giving stories my love.

I get you guys want them...but I am not a machine. I'm unsatisfied as of now.

Try being a writer when that is all you have. When you've no money to get art, you only have your ability to write as a tool of expression. It's been like this for as long as I can remember. But...

I don't have to be perfect or the center of attention. I am fine with writing about what makes me happy.

I'm OK though. I am worn from life throwing me in the mixer with go go go...

* * *

The moral to my rant: I am tired, slipping in my creativity. I need to recharge. Right now I am exhausted and running on fumes. My heart is broken from the past and it's slowly on the mend.

And above all:
I do this for me. *sage nod*