Sometimes when you are depressed and a drunk you feel like every sentence you put down is the same sentence, every word is also the same and every paragraph too. When you don’t work on the story for awhile and then eventually come back to it you have to skim through it all over again and be like did I write that part yet? Did I complain about such and such?
This is when you are like fuck it, it doesn’t really matter because this entire thing is bullshit anyway.
Being insanely self-critical and somewhat of a perfectionist about your writing and your personal story in general combined with booze and sadness equals NEVER GOING TO GET PUBLISHED NEVER GOING TO FINISH IT NEVER GOING TO NEVER NEVER NEVER.
