this has been the truth for a while and i can sustain such existence for a time and some time after that, but it's beginning to take a toll. then my neurotic side really comes out. already i feel it in the stomach aches while i'm driving listening to music that's is mine and reminds me of all the things and places i want to discover and writing i want to do and depths to explore. i send my girlfriend text messages of SOS.
i'm behind on reader letters too. i can hate myself for that. there are authors who so proudly say they never let a week pass without responding. i so can't say that, we're talking months behind! and it's not that i want it this way. it's not that the letters mean nothing, because they are so meaning-full! quite the opposite. they're so full of meaning that i want time, thought and energy to respond. and then i don't because time, thought and energy have been lacking. for nearly the last 2 years. the last 2 years have a lot in them, dark places and such. stories from others that i still can't forget, shouldn't but they do jade you. my own inner and outer struggles. deadlines that nearly did me in. and such.
i'm a whiner. and i'm distracted cause i'm instant messaging my aunt right now and my mother-in-law just arrived with her two sisters and my son and his two friends are coming home from eating pizza and soon gotta take my daughter's friend home and get daughter to her cousin's house and i'm waiting for a phone call from a writer and his family I'm about to meet for the first time (eric wilson -- read his debute novel DARK TO MORTAL EYES www.wilsonwriter.com). can't wait to talk writing. can't wait to write. the writing chronicles ended so quickly....
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