Professionally, I don’t know what I’m doing. And I don’t have thick skin like the rest of ‘um. I get anxious in the midst of criticism. I get depressed when I have no want to write. I get lonely when I’ve written something I’m proud of and have no one to share it with. Its all very consuming. And its a little too close to insanity for my comfort. And I always think, just keep pushing forward. Keep doing what you do. Write what you love. Fuck um. There doesn’t have to be a ‘reason’ for why you create something. Worry about that later and focus on the craft. Pave the road and the cars will come. I say these things to myself …but then… I dunno. DOUBT is the name of the game, I guess. And I suppose all artists drive themselves to madness sometimes. I just hope I can find my way back. Cause this could get ugly.