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January 22nd, 2016

Sometimes, I wonder quietly to myself why I write here. It's partially the impermanence, partially thinking my random thoughts don't fit in as regular posts. It's partially the Cum Shots that float into my inbox, crass and languid, like some sort of prose ambrosia - inspiring me to want to write more creatively, thoughtfully, internally. If you're not already reading Larissa Pham's thoughts there, you should be. 

As a writer, I need an enormous amount of time alone. Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials. It’s a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write. Having anybody watching that or attempting to share it with me would be grisly.
— Paul Rudnick

It's also procrastination. But mostly, it's this itching desire to do something creative, something that someone might read and notice... something.

I've always aspired to seem intelligent, creative, but also mysterious - that teenage urge to feel different, better, interesting. I'm well past being a teen, I think, but that urge still tugs at my sleeve from time to time. That, or when I'm feeling like I need to sit and be with my thoughts, is when I write here - for myself, with the hope that someone else will see, like a diary left out in the open, unlocked. 

Sometimes it feels like I'm writing in the dark. Sometimes, it feels like I'm powerful and can accomplish the dozens of projects swimming around my head. Other times, I lay in bed for hours, obsessing over what I want and have to do, and not doing any of it - the trepidation mounting, the dread blossoming in my stomach. The latter is how this winter has been feeling, with brief bouts of mania where I feel like I can conquer the world.... Which inevitably comes tumbling down with not even a whisper.

I've been oscillating the past few weeks between "I deserve better" and "my writing is terrible and I'm doomed to be miserable and never accomplish anything". 

And then I bought lipstick and eye shadow online, and still felt kind of empty afterwards. 

I write here because I'm scared of it being seen... but I also really want it to be seen. It's on my homepage, but I rarely call attention to it. In the months this has been here, I'm honestly not sure if anyone has read any of what's been here. 

As I sit here, scanning negatives for one of my freelance jobs, staring out the window at the "blizzard" of 2016 - it doesn't feel like much, but I used to live in western NY - I wonder what will happen this year. 

My partner is leaving in a little over a week. He may or may not be back in a few months. I have a lot of freelance prospects, but things are always ephemeral so it's hard to tell how well things will go until I'm actually getting paid for things. My hope is that this year, I'll be able to pay off the debts that have wracked up since my former fiance ruined my credit and my financial stability. I hope I can access health care, get glasses, maybe have some new clothes, all while also eating and paying bills on time.

My biggest hope is having my own apartment at the end of the year, which really depends on all of the above... It would improve my mental health, I'd feel like I was actually succeeding, and my partner could live with me if he's in the states. The stretch goal is traveling beyond just trying to attend, and present at, a handful of conferences this year. 

Fingers crossed. 

Until next time,