Another long interval between posts, and I find myself almost world-weary. A more-than-full-time schedule at school, unrequited love and my own personal demons have left me exhausted, stressed, worn out. Amidst it all, I have little time to write, or little time that I decide to spend writing. I wonder if that is part of my recent instability. Regardless, I am here now, and even though I am not writing fiction, my sentiments make it to the page.

I've started attending a writing group. Well, there's only two people in it, including myself, but that's a start. It is very nice to have someplace to garner constructive criticism on my work. So far it's been working out well. I am sensitive to criticism but as of yet it has actually increased my confidence in my writing as well as showing me ways to improve it. Of that I am very glad. Finally I can start revising enough of my stories that maybe one, just one, will be published.

I was watching Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life" on Friday, and so today I found myself thinking about, and eventually wanting to talk about, the meaning of life.