I'm just here to vent and be angry at myself for actually being a victim to my schedule and thinking I will actually have understanding for it later.

Jennifer, you are nothing but a lazy, uninspired crotch-pheasant. If this is all that you continue to be, then get used to working at a pizzeria because you will not enjoy success as an author or a filmmaker. If you even cared about your own future, you would have at least written a few words here and there, but no: you've spent two weeks derping.

It feels like I'm in a creative traffic jam and I just slammed an entire week into NaNoWriMo with people who have been trying to get where they need to go since the bloody summer. Here's one car: the car of HT who needs to get off at just the next exit, then another: CP4, full of drunken idiots who don't know what they're doing, then there are two art commission taxis that think it's smart to weave between other vehicles at varying speeds, and then a whole swarm of cars that are from work and my vacation and my research. Full. On. Motherfucking. Jam. Right. Into. NaNoWriMo.

The Queen and Walrus are at a stand-still at the front of it all and have no idea what hit them but have started to have ferocious sex in the backseat that fogs up the window while Rabbit cries in his hands.

I know I'm a writer - that will never fall into question for me.

And that is why bouts of no writing are so painful and dull and discouraging. I know what I should be doing with myself.

Gryghghghagweraghaijglkasf

</3, J