~~freaks & babies...
Aug. 9th, 2002 03:18 amiiiii've got plush haaaaary's today :> hee, all the way from england. his glasses are -huge-, hee. he's squishy and everything. yum :}
i've been pissy the last hour or so, but when i look at harry i can't help but smile. ok, so reading this also really helped *grins* how can i ever loff anyone who doesn't loff harry? how i ask you, how? well you see i don't mean, "just harry". *evil giggle* no, i mean, -that- harry. hee.
yah so i told the bastard to go to hell, finally. w00! this was a long time coming, lemme tell ya. he's like, "you're not enough of a bitch for me". and i'm like, "you know what honey?? now i am!" yeah. i said, yeah :P
this was going to be about my relationship to my writing, and how i kinda can't decide if i'm a "good enough" writer or not. i mean, usually i'd say of course, i know i'm good. but i mean, i don't worship myself the way i worship others, obviously, so it's like, does that mean something's horribly wrong? i don't impress myself, really. i don't do any number of things i -could- do with my writing, and i don't know if i -could- even. but i -want- to. that's why i keep writing, of course, that's the point isn't it? because i -want- to. i mean, it might be unpleasant sometimes, even dreary and frustrating and awful at times. but i still want to. like those evil bastard boyfriends you keep coming back to, except writing is actually secretly pretty darn cool :)
so yah, i'm not as cool as (so many!) other writers i worship, as far as i can tell. i know i'm really really good-- sometimes-- and sometimes i -don't- know that. it comes and goes. my quality itself, fluctuates, of course. i can't -stop- so i'm resigned to it, pretty much. i'd seriously consider suicide-from-frustration if i did stop. so. it's like singing in the shower, and hitting all the wrong notes, and breaking glassware-- sure, it's embarrassing and not too good for ze ego-- but hey. what would life be like without it, right? god, i'm so hideously positive. i blame the ficlet! yeah! in the end i love writing, and even -reading- gives me intense, powerful pleasure, so writing is a way of summoning even a bit of that, a way of releasing my own "scent" into the air. i may stink sometimes (to go with the metaphor) but... well... it's a natural function, so i go with it. and yeah, i'd love to be good, as good as the writers that knock my socks off. and-- if i'm not-- i still have those writers, knocking my socks off, right. and i still have my masturbatory, not-quite-bad-but-not-quite-good-enough writing, which i enjoy, at the very least, because it's mine. my freaky little babies. awwwww ~:)
i've been pissy the last hour or so, but when i look at harry i can't help but smile. ok, so reading this also really helped *grins* how can i ever loff anyone who doesn't loff harry? how i ask you, how? well you see i don't mean, "just harry". *evil giggle* no, i mean, -that- harry. hee.
yah so i told the bastard to go to hell, finally. w00! this was a long time coming, lemme tell ya. he's like, "you're not enough of a bitch for me". and i'm like, "you know what honey?? now i am!" yeah. i said, yeah :P
this was going to be about my relationship to my writing, and how i kinda can't decide if i'm a "good enough" writer or not. i mean, usually i'd say of course, i know i'm good. but i mean, i don't worship myself the way i worship others, obviously, so it's like, does that mean something's horribly wrong? i don't impress myself, really. i don't do any number of things i -could- do with my writing, and i don't know if i -could- even. but i -want- to. that's why i keep writing, of course, that's the point isn't it? because i -want- to. i mean, it might be unpleasant sometimes, even dreary and frustrating and awful at times. but i still want to. like those evil bastard boyfriends you keep coming back to, except writing is actually secretly pretty darn cool :)
so yah, i'm not as cool as (so many!) other writers i worship, as far as i can tell. i know i'm really really good-- sometimes-- and sometimes i -don't- know that. it comes and goes. my quality itself, fluctuates, of course. i can't -stop- so i'm resigned to it, pretty much. i'd seriously consider suicide-from-frustration if i did stop. so. it's like singing in the shower, and hitting all the wrong notes, and breaking glassware-- sure, it's embarrassing and not too good for ze ego-- but hey. what would life be like without it, right? god, i'm so hideously positive. i blame the ficlet! yeah! in the end i love writing, and even -reading- gives me intense, powerful pleasure, so writing is a way of summoning even a bit of that, a way of releasing my own "scent" into the air. i may stink sometimes (to go with the metaphor) but... well... it's a natural function, so i go with it. and yeah, i'd love to be good, as good as the writers that knock my socks off. and-- if i'm not-- i still have those writers, knocking my socks off, right. and i still have my masturbatory, not-quite-bad-but-not-quite-good-enough writing, which i enjoy, at the very least, because it's mine. my freaky little babies. awwwww ~:)