Something’s not right with me. Everything feels off, like I’m watching someone else walk around in my body (and do a poor job at it). Maybe it’s just the rain.

I’m feeling unusually negative lately about a lot of things. Overall I just feel down, like I would be depressed if I actually allowed myself to be (but I won’t). Still I feel detached from the fire in me, the belief. I’m finding myself doubting my ability more than believing I will actually get to share it with people.

I think about the writers I love and I just can’t see myself worthy of being in the same class. I try to remind myself that they probably all started out like me, but for some reason I can’t make the thought stick. I hate feeling like this, thinking like this – it goes against the way I try to live. I know I have the strength to pull myself out of this funk, but right now I’m having a hard time accessing it.

I might start reading the Dexter series sooner than I thought now. Might be nice to read from a serial killers point of view and see what that’s like. Also I’m quite interested in the bloody element of the storyline, there’s a lot to learn from that for my story.

I’ve got to feed my mind something and right now it’s not writing. Maybe reading will do the trick.

Peace – Sarah

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