Why is it that I’m so brilliant in my mind that I am in real life? You know what, please don’t answer that. I really do not want to know. Seriously, it was a rhetorical device to introduce my topic of conversation, which is how I can create something so poetic when I’m nowhere near a computer, or pen and paper, and I’m stuck staring at a blank page when I am. Where does that creativity go?
I know, I’m probably not as eloquent as I think I am in my daydreams. I sure as hell not that great of a writer to begin with, but I try. I write what I feel at the moment, and later I can’t help but feel insecure about what I committed to writing. Is it good enough? Are you, the reader, able to understand what I’m trying to say? Am I just being paranoid? Should I just let it go?
I think I should just let it go. No point drawing you further into my craziness.