So, here we are, again. The insomnia, the nerves, the anxiety, the feeling that everything is incomplete and that I only have until the morning to finish. All of this is time wasted. Time that could be used to actually write something. Earlier today, I did get an idea for a story that I actually like, so there’s that. I feel like there are too many things in my way, but there isn’t. It’s just me and whatever excuse I can find to not go on. I haven’t taken any of this seriously.