It's getting boring, repeating the story of these little monkey voices inside my head every time I began writing. I can feel a million things at the same moment; weary eyes, wanting to shut after working almost over 10 hours every day, and by the time I managed to get home earlier to write, my eyes demand an early sleep, and without a doubt it would win. It gets temperamental sometimes, the voices. Singing, you'd better get this right. I don't care whether or not you know what to write. I don't give a shit. You just need to write, and write beautifully otherwise I will be disappointed in you. Like I have been for so long when you've been saying you wanted to write every single day but you never did. Write something nice, like you did back then. It does not have to be big. Just something. Just something else beside your hatred towards me. I can't. I can't. I can't. I don't have anything to write. I don't have anything good to write. I don't even have a topic that I can write. I can only write about you. Full of disappointment. Full of embarrassment. The incapabilities. Won't you understand?
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