Sorry.

First off: I'm really, really sorry for the general duplicity of my last 2 posts. They're essentially the exact same, just with different words. And that's boring.
And a waste of time.
So, sorry about that.


I guess the thing is, I don't have much to talk about when I'm happy. I'm usually too caught up in the "moment" to entertain many philosophical (or even semi-interesting) musings. Which is why in the past, I've only ever turned to this blog in the worst of times. Not a particularly cheery premise for a website, admittedly, but it helped me.
I think the only reason why I've posted so much this year is because "the worst of times" ended up lasting for months. But now it's diminishing, and with it go most of my possible blog topics.

Which might not be a bad thing.

Anyways, I do have a topic today. Shocking, I know.

I'm not skilled.

That's it. That's the topic.
I'm not skilled.

My sister is starting to work on her college essays, and my mother and sister were both very adamant about me taking a look at her work and maybe tweaking it a bit? Which was flattering, definitely, but they kept acting like I was going to make it perfect somehow. Like I would just type a few letters and suddenly, the essay equivalent of the Mona Lisa was going to appear. Which is flattering, like I said! Just. . . it made me anxious. Because I knew I'd disappoint them, because they both house a skewed perspective of my writing skill. I'm really, really not that good, but they keep acting otherwise.

And it holds true in some other areas, as well. I used to swim for a brief time, and the topic of swim team recently came up. And my mother was firm in her flattery, saying I'd be fantastic at it, that I'd really bloom at it or something. But in actuality, I'm a pudgy teenager who hasn't been to a pool in months.

Oh god, I sound like such a brat. Complaining about compliments. It's just, a few people tell me things like that, and I feel like they're expecting something I can't give them. And I feel so guilty for whatever I might've done to give them the impression that I'm that good. And sure, I'd like to think I'm a decent writer. But I don't think I'm nearly as good as they make it out. My pacing is too fast, I forget to flesh out details or actions and I can't write the kind of things that matter. I can't write the sort of words that dig into your brain, can't have the kinds of palms that cover continents.

Sorry, I'm still whining about things. I'll hush. I'm a bit fixated on writing right now, as I'm trying to figure out what in God's name I should submit to a writing contest. So far, it's going pretty unsuccessfully. Also, I'm still panicking over NaNoWriMo because I have no clue what I'm writing about. My plot keeps fluctuating, and I really don't know what I'm doing. Nor do I intend to devote enough time to figure out. I just

wow okay my mind isn't capable of writing a blog post right now.
I should stop
sorry
this is a stupid post
why am I even writing
just

sorry.