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I don't start things because I might fail. I fail because I don't start things....
Definitely circular logic at its best. Not that I can seem to escape the circle, because I generally quit anything that presents any level of difficulty. I know, I'm insane, but it's hard to break out of a life time grave with the ends kicked out. Indeed, it looks easier to just lie down and stop trying at all, after all there will be no success in my life...
Which is yet more circular logic.
I've been considering whether or not to experiment with an AI narrator. I don't have any capital to invest in anything. Indeed, I'm truly wondering if I can pull a SSI-DA award, since I'm finding that work is not longer available at least nothing that I can sustain, because I refuse to break my hands over work that won't sustain me without spending hours I frankly don't want to spend breaking my body. At least not as much as the work that I can get will require.
Honestly, I'd prefer to work for my money, rather than accept a disability award. There is freedom in work and earned money, but my productivity with writing says that I've got little chance of actually completing any work... I've got another piece of dreck started, that if it matches what I've already published will be exactly that, I'd like to work with a proofreader, if anyone is willing to work on a very hit and miss schedule, oh and my particular set of kinks...
If you've read any of the recent pieces I posted I apologize for not tagging them with caution notes as they are all of a dark theme, specifically suicidal thoughts and ideation. Plans made, and while not acted on actively, then passive suicidal activity.
So, if you read my work, including my blog, here's a caution I'm pretty deep in the blue funk. I'm pretty much doing the dying fish float. So expect it to come out in any writing I publish.
I'm still working as I recently noted. So today I'm posting another piece in an ongoing series. The pieces have stopped being flashes though they're still essentially flashbacks. Calvin keeps rediscovering how he became what he is.
More Cocksockett, it seems. And I'm working on a bit more for Lumpy Lisa as well. I'll probably publish another piece of Calvin's story in a few days, I have a bit of work to do to make another chapter, and frankly the story has escaped what it was to begin with, which was a bunch of flash stories or scenes, really because, to be honest, I'm still not satisfied that anything I have written or published meets the definition of a story.
Someone suggested I try hand copying a book by an author who I wish to learn from. I'm a dyslexic, and love my keyboard! As a dyslexic copying is one of the most difficult things I can do. Handwriting a copy would be even worse! I'd be literally in pain.
I've considered what happens next, which to be honest is probably grab something that lets me get off this world without just starving. I'm not working, and frankly I don't have the skills necessary to pursue freelancing at all, even if anyone would pay, which seems like not any more likely than me growing a set of wings and taking up flying. Instead, I get to explore hell, not that this life makes that as much of a thereat as it might seem. Pain in one way or another has been the totality of my life.
No matter how hard I try, I fail. I fail I fail. I fail. I'm tired of the endless, meaningless struggle to do something meaningful. Life is a lie.
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