Good morning, good evening, good afternoon. I am not a bully. I am not an animal. And yet I dream of telling every single bully that I have ever faced what I really think of them. Rub the dirt in their faces that I couldn’t wash clean off mine for years and years. This is how villains with plots to destroy the world are born. Ask Hitler about his art career.

It wasn’t a good dream. It wasn’t a bad dream. But it wasn’t a good dream either. Am I really afraid of myself? Am I really more lion than mouse? Am I not expressing myself? AM I denying myself something? AM I not doing what I want? Am I not doing what I need? The list. The tasks. The schedule. This is another nothing day, Isn’t it?… *sigh* … Fine. :P

Writing. All I want to do is write. The climax is at hand. The end is in sight. And all i want to do is type at a feverish, frantic pace and get it all out so that I can finally look at it through an editor’s eyes, and through a reader’s eyes after that. But right now I am a writer. A five year old trying to piece words into cohesive narrative. You ever see or hear a kid try to tell a story? It’s a mess. And then you can do nothing but either stare at the kid for a moment and give them a dry response (“… Is that so?”), or laugh.

More time to writing. Less time to jobs hunting. I’m out of my mind. And somehow, I don’t mind. I hope Mom doesn’t come asking what I did today. I’m so honest that I’ll either tell her everything or tell her nothing. Or maybe I should do cryptic responses? “What in particular do you want to know? I did a lot today, you know…”

A bully. I dreamt that I was a bully. Why the hell would I dream that I was a bully? Makes for good plot ideas, but really? I do my best NOT to bother people, not I’ve got the mindset to do the opposite? No. I refuse, I refute, I resist. I don’t care if I’m getting squashed. I… I just don’t want any trouble…

Wayne. He’s the bully. He’s my antagonist. Even if he “don’ mean nuthin’ by it”, he’s still a money-grubbing, closet-geek, age-discriminating ogre.

Hmm. Not enough sugar in my tea this morning… Feeling a bit bitter now… =_=

Some people say that the ego projects itself not on people that you like, but people you don’t like. That what you want to be is what they personify. Which is utter crap. I don’t think I want to be beer-bellied, I’m already as assholish as I like online, and I certainly don’t need to be some two-bit, gift-economy bug-man. I’m good. I am things that he will never be. And he is things that swear that I will never become.

I just needed a few moments to solidify my brain into something more stable. That, and all my sloppy typing has been scaring me. I blame House. Little things like typing accuracy or tripping on flat ground usually means something on that show.

But this isn’t a show, is it. -_-;

Thank you, and have a nice day.

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