It's frustrating, that's what.
I want to write, but I can't. I have a few ideas in my head, but I can't seem to get a hold of them completely--one moment I feel like I've gotten it down, but when I actually sit down and write, only horseshit comes out.
It's frustrating, that's what.
I hate that I have a job--no, correction, I hate it that I can't afford not to have a job--and just lock myself away in some quiet place with my books and a laptop (which I also cannot afford right now, even with my job) and just read and write the days away. (At this point I'd start writing about how joyful my job is, but somebody might see.)
It's just all so utterly and absolutely frustrating.
I want to write, but I can't. I have a few ideas in my head, but I can't seem to get a hold of them completely--one moment I feel like I've gotten it down, but when I actually sit down and write, only horseshit comes out.
It's frustrating, that's what.
I hate that I have a job--no, correction, I hate it that I can't afford not to have a job--and just lock myself away in some quiet place with my books and a laptop (which I also cannot afford right now, even with my job) and just read and write the days away. (At this point I'd start writing about how joyful my job is, but somebody might see.)
It's just all so utterly and absolutely frustrating.
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