Its one of these points in my yearly cycle it seems.
Or at least the way things have been going, since I’m only new, what the fuck
do I know?!
I’m in a block.
And yet, I have the ideas and the dialogue and the
concept of what needs to be written, hell I can sit at the computer and write
something, anything, good bad, but at least I can do it. but something inside
me is dead.
It’s dead and starting to fucking smell.
I’d like to use the excuse that I’m waiting for an
email in regards to a short story, I thought I was going to get rejected flat
out, because it sucked, but I re-read that baby and it’s actually quite good. I
like it, and so the rejection will probably come from it not being what there
looking for.
I didn’t see anywhere near as many mistakes in it as
I have with other things. I actually feel I was being very carefully with this
story before I sent it off. and yeah there are things I feel could be cut,
little words changed here or there, sentences linked together rather than
having a fullstop, but nothing about the story was wrong. I could not see any
holes or any paragraph that made no sense, so as it is, it’ll come down to what
they are looking for and if this story fits, not the work I put out, and if it
does get rejected I’m actually just gonna get it edited myself and put it out
there myself.
I’d like to blame my grans death, and it has hit me
hard, harder than my granda’s, and though there is an element to it that’s
making me just not care about the world In general I’m not sure if I can blame
that.
The funeral was weird, we got there a little late—it
was a Catholic church funeral, for those who might understand that little
different in the way things are run. And so we got there and my mum and her
sisters were up doing the eulogy and mum was last, she was chocked up and it
was hard, to hear what she was saying and to have her voice crack, I teared up.
Then the priest got there, he had us all rise (fuck you have to do that a lot)
and he started to so a pray and my mind just went…clicked…fuckoff!!! ‘cause I have
some big issues with the Catholic church, big and passionate issues with the
church I’m baptised under. So as soon as he started the pray my whole mind just
lit up with that passionate displeasure I had with everything that he and the
building stood for.
I think whats happened is that I’ve dumped into a
depression that I haven’t noticed because so much was happening around me,
things that needed me stand up and hold myself together. or, at least, it’s
what I’m thinking it. I have no idea what my thoughts are really saying under
the layers of depression I’m blanketed under. and the worse thing is I really should
see someone about it while I’m in this headspace because I’ve been under it for
more than three weeks, and though I don’t wanna kill myself there’s a point
that I’m not happy and I really need to get help.
But I don’t like to talk about it when I’m under, I don’t
like to notice it, or to point out that this is happening to me because then
people will see that wrongness in me and I don’t want that. I don’t….
Anyway, at the moment I have this thought in my
head. I’m all, ‘I wish I could edit book 5 soon ‘cause that will get me
motivated to write. It will get that series back into my head, and I’ll get excited
about it because it happened before’. And that’s true it did when the first
edits came in. but what I really need to do is make myself write it.
Hell, I need to make myself do anything. Yesterday I
sat in front of the computer and I did shit all. Didn’t write, didn’t read, and
I defiantly didn’t clean the house like I was meant to. I just sat there wrote,
I think, 3 things on fb and commented a little, but other than that I didn’t sweet
shit all. And I honestly don’t understand why I wasn’t bored, or where the time
went because it wasn’t as if all these comments took up more than a half hour
and that was with breaks. It wasn’t as if…anything. I just sat there, without a
thought in my head and did nothing.
I am a depressant. And the last couple of weeks I’ve
felt the water brush at my face as I hold on the bridge with sloppy fingertips.
Shit I’m in trouble.
Shit.
RIP
Betty McGee
21st of February 1930 to 23rd
of February 2014
You’ll be missed
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