And I had some warped idea about putting up a good front for the Gorgons' benefit, but we shan't go into that...

At any rate, I was never the type to throw temper tantrums. Can't recall a one and, last I checked, neither could the parental units. Pitching fits was always the Gorgons' territory. Still is, for that matter, though I seem to be unconsciously compensating for a few things now.

What I'm heading towards here is another contrite angst binge about how my writing invariably turns out trite and bombastic, pointless, plotless; how my eye won't stop itching; how I went out for dinner with some lasses from my hall and it didn't do a bit of good when it should have, by cracky, it really should have; how I simply can't go on blowing trivialities out of proportion or else I'm done for; and, above all, how life is not fair. Not that anyone ever said it was, naturally. There's theodicy for you, good sir.

Spraking of blowing things out of proportion, let me tell you how I wrote something a little while ago. I was dissatisfied with it, so it had been sitting on my hard drive for months. Then, not so very long ago, I drop by an archive and wham, there it is and, wham again, I'm suddenly periously close to throwing a tantrum.

I had no right to, naturally, but it bothered me immensely nonetheless. I'd never posted mine up because I found it mind-numbingly mediocre, and that fact that someone else had not only pounded out a similar tale, but a Good one as well, was like a kick in the face. No one likes being bested, even when there's not much to best in the first place, but it's nothing worth flying off the rocker.

And I swear on the soul of Charles Baudelaire I will stop being so unnecessarily remonstrative and schedule an appointment already. Maybe it's me, but it doesn't seem quite right to be reacting this way to what seem like such mundanities. Never mind that they aren't mundanities to me. For whatever reason, I do enjoy writing, as well as all manner of things that tend to evoke similar spells, though I'm thinking maybe it'd be better if I didn't. I make too much of matters, in case that hasn't become clear. A girl could tell me I sing better than anyone she knows (this is entirely hypothetical, of course), and that no one in the dorm can hold a candle to, and I would think, "Of course not; we aren't allowed to have candles in the dorm."

Terribly tedious, all of it, and it never does a bit of good. This sort of thing used to come up occasionally; but recently, now more than ever, they've been more than occasional. Which is why I'm ready to gut myself with a spork at this point because it seems I can't, haven't, and won't ever be able to bloody DO anything. And heavens, but that idea just gets me cringing all over again till I'm wasting all my time cringing, and well, there we go again.

Darlin', keep at it; I love your writing. You've blown my mind. What's left of it. Whatever.

Adieu.