It is hard to re-read my posts. Expressing my stress and writing it down separates it from me, it's like the difference between thinking something and actually saying it. I suppose that I have suddenly discovered one of the reasons for journaling. I have always written my thots down as a way of moving them from inside to outside my head but having gotten the upper hand by naming and formalizing my passion-points (so-called because they are not just bad thots but also good thots, thots and ideas that elicit an emotional response) I really don't want to revisit the seen of the crime or, put a better way, stop the wound healing by picking off the scab.
Then there how irritated and frustrated I get because I never think I have expressed myself exactly the way I intended. Between the limitations of language itself plus my own limited language ability I constantly fight against throwing a temper tantrum and sulking with beer!
I have written thousands of bits and pieces of fiction and non-fiction during my life and still suffer from the curse of the neo-writer, that is, to compulsively re-write the first chapter, trying to get it absolutely perfect, and never ever move on to the rest of the story.
There is always such a difference between what I mean and what I write that I feel like I am feeding pork sausage makings into a meat-grinder and getting vichyssoise out the other end.
Also it is really hard to write with brucie curled up on my lap, it makes all my raging against the the cruelties of the universe kind-of pretentious. Aww, she's giving me belly-love!
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