Yesterday evening met me with bad habits. Or, I was practicing bad habits I’ve know for too long now. This morning, too, for that matter. I get tired of the fight a lot faster than I used to. I’m showing my age. You know that spark in me you saw in the first three posts? Faded. I am who I am and who I am is hard to change in this environment.

Still, I get credit for coming here and scribbling something down. If you’re looking for something magnificent, now’s not the time. I feel as though I can barely string a sentence together, let alone making that sentence have merit. Oh well, at least I’m here, soon my writing pecks will be swollen and rippled and accentuated with a revealing t-shirt.

There are times with my woman when I can’t help but feel as though I’ve been manipulated. Turns out I’m pretty easy to manipulate. The dull feeling of uncertainty hiding some shame and guilt. They aren’t far off in the distance, just within sight. Almost stalking. Waiting for that moment of weakness.

I need her though. Just like she needs me. Tough times and our personality traits make this truth painfully obvious. The love is there too, you know. We enjoy one another’s company very much. That first couple of sentences are valid and there, but don’t think they out weigh the next couple of sentences. Cause they don’t.

So I’m supposed to write a book, huh? That’s what I said in my first super ambitious post here. Write a free novel for all to read. Write the great American novel and make no money off of it. Money or recognition. Sounds eerily like my art career. Blah, I digress. I’m just being nervous and trying to diminish my spirit or the spirit fo accomplishing something grand.

I do believe I can write something, and write something well. It’s the commitment. The lengthly practice of it. I’m the type of feller who, when into something, I’m way into it. Which is good. I love that fascination. Trouble is the burn out factor. That burn out factor has cost me a lot of accomplishments in the past. A lot. I’m sure it’s more common than just in me. I’m not tragically unique. That recognized, I have a deep reverence for it.

I am girding my loins in preparation for the burn out factor. I need to do something, in spite of myself. I’d rather have this skill set than being great at Star Craft 2. Not even great, moderately good.

Sad face.

OK, enough bemoaning. I gots me a plot to create.

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