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Three new chapters. Finished about ten something last night. So tired, I started startling from seeing those dark things out of the corner of my eyes. Sleep was good. But book, not quite finished. Checking the military stuff, or rather double and triple checking it. I’m always painfully aware that I am a civillian. I think it’s one of the reasons I always write from an outsider point of view rather than a typical law enforcement officer, or soldier, because I know I’m not either of these things.

The book will get to wing it’s way to New York today. God willing. My mood is dark, and not in a good, happy way. But part of how you deal with it, is embracing the fact that you are a moody bastard, and bear that in mind on the days when the mood gets ugly. Don’t take it out on anyone else, and find an outlet that isn’t self-descructive. This is one of those days when I understand why Hemingway was a drunk, and why one of the most common problems for almost any artist is addiction of some kind. You just want something to make it stop for awhile, or to lighten the darkness. You think of that first drink as lighting a candle against the night, but in reality it’s the beginning of setting your world on fire just to watch it burn. Artists are always tip-toeing on the edge of the abyss, never give yourself a push, which is what all addictions are. But just because I don’t do all the bad habits, doesn’t mean I don’t understand the attraction of them sometimes. But if you’re never tempted, then you aren’t really behaving. Only those who are tempted and turn away, know that they are strong. Today, I will not take my temper out on anyone, not even myself. Today, I will not pull some bad habit around me like a warm blanket, and hide behind it. Today, I will experience my mood, and not self-medicate, or look away. An artist learns from their pain and their darkness, as much as their happiness and light. Never do anything that takes away your ability to feel it all. Good, bad; ugly, beautiful; happiness, sorrow; horror, awe: it all goes into the mix. I will let this rage wash over me. I will let it soak into my pores, and remember that the rage belongs to me; I do not belong to it.

(Let me add that medication for depression or anxiety is not a bad habit. If your doctor says you need it, you need it. Don’t let anyone else talk you out of what works for you; not even me.)