An Absolutely Garbage piece of writing.

Given that I haven’t written or published anything in months mostly because I didn’t have a phone to write with, I have gotten pretty complacent with my writing so if anyone stumbles on this particular post, I’m sorry in advance for typographical or grammatical errors that may be found here. I really can’t afford to procrastinate (which for some reason has a red underline. Did I also forget how to spell procrastinate? — wait, I think I was typing “procastinate”.)

The Critic.

Ah, yes. After typing and deleting for a few moments, I know where to start; the mirror. This mirror in particular. The blank white page that is both my canvas and my mirror.

I stand in front of you, unable to lie to the person I see on the other side of the mirror, standing next to the muse who I had left for months as my life spiraled out of my control.

My dreams have always been real to me, as real as the memories I have of the past yet the person who reflects my future stands next to the muse in this mirror... Disappointed. How did I become someone who is nothing more than a dreamer, sleeping in a world full of imaginations yet living a life full of unfruitful business.

Who better to slug me with strong critique than the two who have always been with me.

All parables aside, this is more of a diary entry than a post that would serve to help anybody.

For the past few months or years perhaps, given that I don’t even know when it began. “It" has controlled me more than I have controlled myself leaving me to wonder when it was, that I stopped being able to be free.

Everyday for a while now I have felt like a person who knows better but is unable to do better. A person with big dreams but not the work ethic to match. I hardly recognize this man that I currently am and the difference probably also reflects in these words that I write.

Will I be able to come out and write again? I do hope so.