Day 13 - The Emos, they LIE!

Angst is the worst muse ever. It doesn't even inspire crappy poetry, it just sort of clogs your brain up with something black and sluggish. I'm not going to rant about my personal problems. I am however displeased with how they're affecting my creative streak. I was on a roll, sort of. I managed to finish the first draft of chapter one and then I mentally sat down and said "whew!"

The problem is I needed to keep going, but I felt sort of finished, and then some things happened and now the last thing I want to do is write. Mostly I want to whine, to be truthful. That and eat chocolate. I can't even live under the pretence that I'm in a deep philosophical anguish, if I was under that particular delusion I'd be drinking whisky and smoking pipe. It's just self-pity all the way and it irks me, a lot. I'll get back to this when I get back I guess.