Well blog, I don’t know what to say, other than, now that I have a human therapist, I feel a significantly smaller need for you. Sorry. You’re a positively lovely archive of my mental illness, which makes me treasure you, but, there are only so many hours in the fucking day, am I right?
Therapy is going well. I always am a mix of having no idea what to say and being amazed I have yet to bring certain topics up. I mention my book about 756 times per session, but I still haven’t brought up R, even though I’m not avoiding it, it just hasn’t happened yet.
CF1 is still coming along, although at times I feel like my original date of December 2019 for completion might be far-fetched. Not to mention, between you and I, blog, I’ve been getting fucked like crazy, so like effing hopefuly I get pregnant soon? Like I don’t want to be an old mom, and it would be REALLY smart of me to have kids while my MIL is still living, because she will help tremendously with paying for things. And I’ve always, always imagined having children. I mean at this point, even one child (even though as a rule, when I was young, I hated only children).
I have to tell you guys, my book in insanely good. Like I really, really love it. It’s fun to read, and I’ve read it roughly 8500 times.
Isn’t it funny that out of all of my paranoia, I’m not at all convinced I’m delusional instead of arrogant?
I wonder at what age my face begn betraying my anger. It wasn’t until I was well into my twenties.
I have the next three days off. I want to write as much as possible. Sooner or later, if not December them shortly after, I’ll be done with this first book. I have so many ideas. I have some problems, but not knowing what to write isn’t one of them. I’m set through two different series. After that, I’ll figure it out, like I figure everything out.
I wonder what it is that I do to alienate everyone
it sure is something