throw another bear in the canoe

Sometimes I think I'm pretty hot shit.

And then some mornings, I wake up extremely frustrated with my bloody lack of ability to write anything that's even remotely worth reading. I wonder who I'm deluding, and I suspect it's myself.

I'd like to achieve competence at this job some day.

Tomorrow's a day, isn't it?

I'm having one of those days where I'm convinced I'll never find my audience, no matter how well I write.

I really need to stop taking this so seriously.

***

Words: 885, and every last one of them written in blood and the sweat of my brow.
Reason for stoppings: Bloody tired, man.

***

I'm on the side that's alway's lost
Against the side of Heaven.
I'm on the side of snake-eyes tossed
Against the side of seven.

Damn, how does Leonard Cohen do that?