I don't smoke pot or drink.
Every couple of weeks, I'll smoke one cigarette if I'm in the mood.
I'm not a druggie, and I've never been on a long-term medication.
Despite this, I feel like a junkie that's falling apart. I wrote more poems last month than I did the entirety of the 2015-2016 year. These poems have mostly been marked with the time and date they were whipped up.
My writing is deteriorating at an alarming rate. My WPM is down to roughly 25-30. It's like my fingers just don't flow the same. They were these liquid wands that were randomly dammed. I have not attended school in roughly one month. Things just aren't what they used to be. My brain is the Detroit Auto Industry. In an effort to combat this, I have decided to take a serious jab at NaNoWriMo for the first time in three years. The title of my novella is "Confessions of a Tranny Slut." I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere. I will keep you (all two of you) posted.
Friday is the day that I will seek help.
Until then, Godspeed.
