Sometimes writing is like having an enormous lake in your head, and you want to get it out of your head & into a proper place for a lake so other people can come and go swimming and ride jet skis and stuff, except all you have to move the lake is a teaspoon. So you're just sitting there frantically flinging water out of the lake with your teaspoon and telling people, "Guys, this lake is going to be so cool when it's done," but it will never be done.
There is so much lake.
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1989 | Rants
Random❝ September 1st, 1989. Dear Diary: I believe I'm a good person. ❞ In which a salty libra with a dark sense of humour rants & misquotes greek gods because why not? ❝ Dear Diary: My teen angst bullshit now has a body count. ❞
