and pulling the hair back from my eyes yeiled exactly the results I had hoped for.
Finally, for the first time in what has seemed like decades I am able to calculate and construct an intelligible sentence, prepositional phrase, quotation, flawless flowing exhaustingly descriptive paragraph, with refreshing ease.
Its no longer difficult for me to think of what to write about, or what it is I really want to say. The thoughts are out of my brain through my fingertips between the keys and forever embedded on the page in each letter-shaped blot of black ink. Its exciting, exhilerating. So therapuedic. I have missed this freedom so much; i had almost forgotten what raw emotion tasted like. All these months I thought I had been out gaining 'experience' 'enlightenment' becoming 'cultured' and in a way, I suppose I have. But I hadn't catalogued any of it. Untill today. Yes, today, as the frozen rain on my window mimicked the clicking of the typewriter, I wrote the first 23 pages of the novel I've been talking about writing since Cory Griffin moved away sophomore year. Why does this matter? Because it means I've subconciously taken that monumental first step toward something more pure than anything else I've ever dreamt of completing.
I have taken the initiative, no, I have taken action, legitimate, tangible, staggering progress. I am at the foot of the stairway of motivation.
My rut has been scaled.
I have clambered out of the doldrums.
I am ready to face my goals. I am ready to work diligently to achieve them.
I am ready to face my 'demons'. I am ready to face the world; no.
I have turned my back on everything that was keeping my fist clenched in my pocket and I have given the world the finger.
This is my big "FUCK YOU!"

I am my own boss.
I will do what I want.
and I advise you to do likewise.
You're hereby ordered to stop eating shit because you think it will get you something, somewhere or someone of value; it won't.
kthx.