I swear to you this is not a cry for help. Nor is this a pity party. I would just like to reiterate to myself that: Who the hell was I kidding when I said I could write? Everyone can fucking write. Everyone on frickin' Livejournal can write a vibrant sentence. What in God's name makes me think that I'm special?

I'm fairly well-read, I'll give myself that. But not even, because I'm only well-read in fiction and everyone can say that about themselves. And anyone who says that he/she can write without reading is just being ridiculous (And believe me, I know people who smugly proclaim this fact). I am not a unique snowflake, ika nga ng "Fight Club."

What gets me so mad is that I allowed myself to be exclusively trained for something that I may be okay at, but not any more special than the rest. I have not improved. I write like I did five years ago. I'm too fucking self-centered and now I'm getting too explicit. My philosophy professor is right, I may just turn out to be collateral damage.

And in an hour and a half, I have to go to a meeting for the next issue of the broadsheet and pretend that I'm smarter than I am. This is madness.

Yuck. I hate angst just as much as the next person but *augh* I refuse to call this angst. That word is for Kafka wannabes and adolescents. This is almighty disillusionment.