There's a little suction cup in my soul, and attached to that suction cup is a green-tinted window. Everything seen through this window looks wildly better than it is, and anyone (re: me) who looks through the window immediately wants everything they see and nothing they have. This window is my envy, and I feel like - since I've been in LA - the window has become even bigger and more distorted. And the more I look, the more I desire, the more I despise everyone who has what I want and doesn't deserve it half as much, the more that suction cup sucks all that's good from my soul and feeds it through some strange enzyme process into the window. Window grows, soul turns into brush.
I'm trying. Really I am. I don't want to be that person. I just need to be watered (metaphorically, I think). Then the suction cup's attachment will weaken and I can look away. If that makes any sense.
Whilst trawling the List of Craig, I often come across pleas from "ideamen" who claim to be writers in need of partners. Except, they can't write. The posts are filled with grammatical atrocities and offer little by way of compensation for bringing "their" story to life.
It's abominable. It ought to stop.
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