Incomplete

I’ve never been able to hate my writing enough because I didn’t care enough. Now I care too much… and it’s so much that I thinks it’s absolutely shitty. So shitty, I don’t even want to read it after writing.

I have this terrible habit, if I feel like something isn’t well written, I don’t read it. Let it be my syllabus, text for class, a classmates blog or for that matter my own writing. This has come back to bite me in the ass and I’m caught in a tangled web of incomplete thoughts, writings, and unedited photographs. This is like trying to get out of a cave with only an entry but that’s shut and now I’m stuck. Only way out is to dig an exit.

So I give up on the exit and jumped into a parallel universe till this happens, again and again and again and till I can’t anymore. Now I’m stuck, lazy to move. No more alternative dimensions to jump into and all the

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