So I ended up not going out with best. It's a long story, don't wanna say it (hint: parents), but it's none of her fault, only mine. I'm just feeling like I've deeply disappointed her. I had already promised her nearly a month back that I'd bring her out, yet this stuff happens on the exact day and exact time. Fate couldn't be any more cruel even if it had tried. Mood: deeply downcast. Hope I can make it up to her.
Is it me or does it seem like more people are writing highly 'intellectual' posts nowadays? An abstract fictional story here, a musing there with a smattering of politics thrown in for good measure. I think it's high time I stepped up to the podium and let people know that still inside me lies a burning desire and dare I say it, passion for good writing. I used to be able to write many a good essay, having inspiration just hit me like a bolt of proverbial lighting and translating it into a ream of ideas and smooth prose. The enjoyment was deeply fulfilling.
But now (yes fellas, you can start sentences with 'but' now. The language is evolving, no joke) it isn't easy for me to write as well as I did. Ideas simply evade me, inspiration shys away and even vocabulary, once rich, has now descended into the dark realm of mere adequacy and oft-incorrect usage. A constant sense of dread hangs in the air as I attempt a piece of writing, fearful of the thought that I could have, should have written it better but HOW, HOW. I constantly second guess, fret, pore over written work, fearful that somehow, somewhere there has been a sentence that has been untouched by divine power and somehow, somewhere I can make it whole again. It is a never ending game of the how. But pieces should never veer into verboseness and verbiage, no matter the cost, no matter the idea. Balance must be struck.
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