Okay, I need sleep.
I'm turning into a raccoon. You know, the silly creatures with the funny little hands? O_o yea, one of those.

When you write something, there is something satisfying about holding this part of your very soul in front of your eyes and being able to say: "I created this, whether it's horrible or not." Add other people into the equation and things go funky. You feel less and less like you are writing for yourself but to please those other people you have in mind. Well, when they send you sweet messages of being excited for what you have to say next, you become mad to keep them happy. You think and think that they will being to hate you the second you sit back to relax. Slacking, they call it. Psh. As if they knew.

Sometimes I wonder whether I should allow it to control me. Other times I ponder the point of resisting. I'll be craving for it in the end anyways.

*sigh* I need sleep. I'm going crazy. You know, the kind of crazy where you sit alone in your room and think you're turning into a silly little animal. Like a raccoon.