Quicksand

What a tangled web I'm weaving. And what's it worth? If I finish, the world, I guess. It's worth the world. Rick said it's my passion, which of course resonated with me, because it was flattering. Naturally. I try not to let the bothersome stuff resonate. But of course the shitty stuff that does is the very worst, and makes me feel so small. I don't want to feel small with my creative output. I want to soar. I want to fly above the others. And there's that voice inside me, insisting, sneering rather, that it isn't going to happen. And that makes me angry. With myself. I'd be black and blue if I slapped myself as often as I should.