Tilted and tired

I'm tilted right now. It's been a long day. I'm hungry, I'm angry, and I'm frustrated by my lack of skill. I remember reading this writing tip list by Dan Simmons. He sounded miserable as he listed why it was so hard to be a writer. I thought he was full of it, I was wrong. Writing is a miserable waste of time. I know because tomorrow, I'm going to try again. I'll spend maybe an hour writing while Brandon Sanderson churns out another book. I'll be burnt out, angry, and unable to read or calm myself down because my autism gives me a short fuse. I can't turn to anyone either. My therapist has left for the weekend and my writing friend is moving. This week, I'm on my own. It doesn't matter anyway, they couldn't have helped me. I finished the first draft of my Cain story and it was like pulling out a tooth with pliars. Is this what King does every day? Four pages of this stuff would kill me, let alone writing one page. I desperately want to be the next Stephen King but I don't know why. Maybe it's because I hope that I could see my ideas in video games or even on a streaming service. For some reason I want a legacy like George Martin or Tolkein but I lack the skill to write like them. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, that I've reached out to ask about writing has either batted my hand away like I'm a leper or rubbed their fingers together demanding money. I don't have money. All I have is time that slips away from my hands like dust. I've reached out to the higher powers, but there is no answer for me. Is that my fate? To be comforted until I die? Maybe that's to be my life.

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