I used to be able to write effortlessly, but recently I’m having trouble. This is the first thing I’ve written for about two weeks. I managed to finish a micro story recently, but work is really messing about with my head. It’s really stressful, and instead of dreaming about my characters, I’m stumbling about attempting not to think about my day job, and all its mundanity and aggression. This is going to be a brief entry. Hopefully, Alexand Merek will save me eventually from becoming another casualty, an office grunt. I’m feeling depressed about it, and no amount of self publication will allow me to escape from the fact this job is slowly eroding my creativity, and making me feel nothing. I have to make money, I just wish I could make it writing. I don’t feel alive anymore. It’s as if the world is broken and I want it to end.