most of the time I’m convinced I’ve done some good personality work in the last decade, and painstakingly managed to dismantle the worst of the overachiever mindset that led me to have a quiet breakdown at the age of 17 and another, even quieter one at age 21.

and then I look back at my writing stats for this week and get incandescently angry with myself because if I could write 1200 words tonight, why aren’t I writing >1000 words every night? what’s my excuse? hmm?? I AM A LAZY SHIT. etc.

bafflingly, this is angrier than I get at myself during the weeks when I barely write a word.

jesus christ fahye

2014.

this was a year.