I'm a little upset with the world, and with myself. I'd like to complain, that's what some people use these blogs for, but however I know most if not all of you are here to read my works of fiction, therefore I'll refrain from entirely bitching.
I'm angry with myself for not being happy with what I write, I write about a page of stuff for a chapter, don't like it, and then close the tab and maybe stumble for a while, or go play Mario. I'm running out of movies I own to keep my interest and it seems as though I'm being ignored. Yes, Liz I'm talking about you.
That's just the way it feels.
I'm also upset that I can draw a comic, of low quality, but nonetheless a comic, and yet I'm unable to flesh out a story.
And I'm lonely, extremely lonely. I used to have someone to talk to, now I talk to myself, and he never talks back, selfish bastard.
I bought Moon, it was great. Cheered me up a little bit. You should all go out and watch it.
-Sir Jestro
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