Proposed Illiteracy

[nirinia]

Right, I'm a tad pissed off, and a tad stressed. And I've realised that I no longer write for a living (very bad pun, I know, but I couldn't resist it). Write or get depressed, sickly, annoyed, snappy and short-tempered - the good old times, darlings, oh yes, but no more. Now I do nothing of the sort, and am desperatly indifferent ("mood: apathetic") when I'm not aggravated, frustrated or, in good company, bouncy. It's a nasty feeling; having lost an important part of myself. I can't write for a living, in all senses of the word, if I can no longer write.

Addendum: D.H. Lawrence's poem "To Women, as Far as I'm Concerned" is wonderfully entertaining. And McGough's "Why Patriots are a Bit Nuts in the Head".