what makes you recoil

for the first time since i put up this blog, i read all my past entries. yes, all of them. i am now officially fascinated by my old self. fascinated in a way that makes me wince in pain.

i found that i write most of the time when uninspired. isn’t that strange? most people write when inspired. and i don’t mean positively all the time; many gifted writers produce their best work under melancholy inspiration. like when they are jilted.

i guess this is why i can’t be a writer. i would only produce boring stuff.

to be shamefully honest, i used to dream about being a writer, but that aspiration fell by the wayside when at a young age someone important led me to discover this mystifying object called a “paycheck” and made me believe that the only way to survive is to have this come to you on a regular basis. so as soon as i reached legal working age… that’s history now.

over a decade of subsisting on the paycheck made me realize that it’s not worth dealing with monsters for.

—–

i don’t know why i used to be so affected by things that didn’t matter. i blame it on hormones. or sleep deprivation. maybe both. or i could just blame it on the horror movies i used to watch as a child for instilling a morbid fear of everything in this wide world, even things unrelated to spirits and the occult.

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