I can’t write and I’m not worth anything

Maybe I should get rid of this category on the d20. I haven’t been able to “write write”, that is, write fiction. I lost a friend through my own fault (what does it matter if I blame myself? It still happened, it was still my fault, and I learned nothing, and I’m a base creature who learns nothing from her experiences, so why should I be alive? And so on), and so far it’s tanked my desire to do anything of the nature I had been doing up until that loss.

On the other hand, I can blog. Kinda. That’s been coming back gradually, though I doubt I’m ever going to do change logs again. It just hurts too damn much. In fact, I think I’m going to cry for a while after this entry.

If blogging comes back gradually, then maybe the writing of fiction can too. If it does, it’s going to come back irrevocably changed; there’s no way I can write a jaunty little romance tinged with sadness. I’m going to open a vein all the way, instead, and spill it on the paper. Or the screen. You know what I mean.

It’s a shame. I have an iPad I enjoy writing on (at least, the writing I can do right now) and I wish I could fill its days with something.

Of course, I have a tendency to do the exact opposite of what I say I can’t do. It’s a quirk of mine that I guess people don’t understand. I don’t really understand it myself.

How did I ever get away from my parents?