It's really hard to write, whether it's just a blog or something more, when you're having a month or more long fit of self-loathing. Every word I put on a page just seems ridiculous and inadequate, as though I'm pretending I even have a right to be writing it in the first place. Perhaps if I have another glass of wine not only will the words will come spilling forth, but I'll actually approve of them.
Or maybe I'll just get drunk and fall asleep with my clothes on.
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