Feels like I'm starting again, the last three years were just pretend

Feels like I'm starting again, the last three years were just pretend

Either I've failed my NaNoWriMo novel, or it's failed me, but in any case I think I'm putting it to rest, because as much as I enjoy writing just for the sake of writing, my plot was sloppy and stupid and sappy and in all honesty, I don't know that I'm ever going to like anything that I write as much as I do what I started last November. 

But that will go nowhere too, because I have this huge difficulty balancing my desire to reconcile who I am with how others see me and my desire to reconcile who I am with how I see myself.  So as a result of that, everything I write has some facet of myself in it, just like I find a bit of myself in every novel or play or poem that I read, and so because of that I don't share what I write with anyone.  But I think that's okay, at least for right now.  I'm not afraid of disapproval really, or of criticism, but of misunderstanding, maybe.

I drove to the SAT today.  And then I drove home.  And later I drove to Target to drop off a roll of film, and then I drove home again.  I've loaded four cds into my car and set up my XM presets, and I have my car tissue box and my sunglasses in the cupholder and I guess it just all feels very permanent.  Freeing, and permanent.