by mooshoo » Sun Aug 28, 2011 6:30 pm
My birthday was yesterday; I love my birthday. It is the one day out of the year that I feel that I can tell my inner critic to shut up and leave me alone, because it is my day. Every other day of the year my "critic" tries to bring me down, and frequently succeeds, by imparting the message that I am no good and deserve bad things to happen. But not on my birthday, my birthday is my day, it is all about me, and it is okay for me to be nice to myself on that day. Can anyone else relate?
I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me —
I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living.
Anaïs Nin