On Stepping In It

I know of no other blogger whose writing is as counter productive as mine. I have never seen another blogger have to back track and retract her previous posts with the frequency that I do. Maybe it's time to shut the fuck up. Maybe it's time to take a break and read for a while. When you start congratulating yourself on your writing, it's time to quit writing. I'm sloppy in the extreme. Ignorant. Woefully under educated. Out of my league. Thoughtless, careless of other's contributions and feelings. And I can't seem to read when I write. It's as if there is a switch that's thrown when I shift from one medium to another that turns off every other creative function.

Shorter days sometimes trip the switch that is at the heart of a mood disorder. Today I feel prickly, pissed off, alienated, and mired in self loathing. I need to go out to the grocery store and I am dreading it. I have to work to assemble a disguise, so that my feelings won't show. I need to look normal. I need to make sure I am invisible. The barometer is shifting as a storm moves in. Maybe it's weather related. I have tools sitting on a table outside that haven't been used in a month. It's time to stop everything unrelated to some practical, necessary task. I need to make a list and make sure that somewhere on the list is read the book Nick gave me for my birthday. But mostly I need to shut the fuck up.