i'm supposed to be editing my attempt at an Ars Poetica but i have yet to attain a certain solitude which i require of myself before embarking on any creative writing attempt and thus words are currently being stubborn - refusing to untangle themselves from the accumulated web of "highness" brought about by my recent obsession with alcohol-binges. so instead of trying to force anything upon them, i've decided to blog my time away (with the promise that my Ars Poetica will be completed soon enough and alcohol-binges will be kept at a minimum - at least until this term is over). any form of writing is better than nothing i guess, considering that i haven't really bothered to write anything new lately. which brings me to wonder how the hell i'll be able to submit stories for the panel on february and that long-ass short story due for my wrifict class on march. me and my need (not want) to be a writer is killing me.

gah. i think i've lost my flare for writing. my sentences and phrases disgust me. i feel like stabbing it in the eyes (if it had eyes). and my vocabulary is dying. i need to read the dictionary more often. read it like a damn novel.