It isn't fair it isn't fair it isn't fair she said, stomping her foot and tears coming to her eyes. She wanted it all. It felt at one point too impossible, but all that had to happen was for Girl to open to a blank page and start. Start something. Start anything. But instead she continued to sit in the same chair, the same spiral of Stagnant, and wailed about how It Just Wasn't Fair.
She could have it all, couldn't she? She could. She fucking could.
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I AM going to write a book. Fucking watch me. I am too loud, too stupidly jealous, too ambitious, too smart, too opinionated, too creative, too addicted to thoughts and words and stories, to do nothing. It's getting to a point where I almost have a responsibility to do this. To myself, because I need to know I can for my sanity. Just to spite someone who will never acknowledge it? Maybe right now, this moment. Just to get me through. But ultimately I need to know I have it in myself. To know I CAN beat that fear, that intimidation. And to everyone that shares that fear, those that never will do what intimidates them. For them, I will overcome this.
And, yes, maybe to spite someone. Because I need to win this.
THIS is my Fuck You.
