It never used to be this hard: Up until two years ago, I could write a fuck-off missive like nobody's business. Oh, and they were glorious rantings, too, pages and pages of nothing but heartfelt bile. Ask anyone who's been on the ass-end of my ire -- insane masterpieces, every last one of them.
But now? The words are there, but I'm not feeling that extra ... je ne sais quoi that would really push it over the edge. And then I keep wanting to edit it to make it more concise and pointed instead of vitriolic and mean. Meh.










