in the hole.

[thoughts]
What goes up must come down.
I'm in a rut--some call it depression, I call it the period of over-self-analyzing and extensive self-criticism.
I hate the feeling of inadequacy--percolating about my mind like the one fly pestering you as you try to enjoy your lunch in peace.
This intruder invaded my happy cycle of insanity, otherwise known as my daily schedule, in the form of comparative criticism. Why do I even try when I see others who're so much better than myself? It's a frustrating and daunting feeling.

They say that hurts from our past haunt us in the present, dictating our reactions to situations that echo the past situation. I can't claim that this is truth, but perhaps it is true of our subconscious selves.

break down

[creative experiment ii]

The cursor kept blinking.
Stop blinking.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 8 ten ...unending
The infinite cycle of things to do
And it won't halt or brake
dont take me, don't make me run running
run in circles
oooOOOO

chica suava

[creative experiment i]

She glanced toward her reflection in the window passing as she always does, while pretending to peer inside the glass. Confident or in search of confidence, she smiled at her image and swiped her hand through her straightened glossy hair. Chest out, head up, stilettos clicking against the pavement--she was the embodiment of woman. She disappeared through the transparent doors of the 30-story office building.

Following a similar path, I glance toward my reflection in the window passing as I always do, while pretending to peer inside the glass. Confident or in search of confidence, I smile at my imag -- &*@#!@%$# -- stiletto has nudged itself into the crack of the sidewalk catapulting body to the ground. frick.

a writer writes writings.

[an introduction]

Writing, so often, is a baring of self to others and is quite frightening. In fact, it's often embarassing. I look back at past thoughts and verses and it's unbearably embarassing. How much thought should I really put into each word, each sentence, each paragraph? What will people see in these words? Are they lines and curves blending in monotonous formations? Or are they, clichely put, windows to the soul. Can people see between the black font and past the white space? Can people see the girl typing at the keyboard, unsure of self and unsure of motives but needing to vomit these formations. Do they see her; do they judge her? Even now I fear the potential of these words being stamped 'cheesy.' Why is the need, within, so strong to bring thoughts into letters, sentences, entries?

I want to write, and I need to write so badly right now. And gosh, I'm being so overly dramatic. I'm in a mode.

I've gone through and deleted entries that made me ashamed and embarassed and want to start clean. I want these writings to be me, not me pretending to be different personas. I want these writings to include my faith, include my fears, include my strengths, and include my weaknesses.

Evidently, if you can't tell by my overly-dramatic tone, I've been highly influenced by the countless hours of Asian dramas I've been watching. I am cheese incarnate.