
This kind of reminds me of a poetry-writing class I took at university (I know; taking a poetry class in such an atmosphere just begs for misbegot souls). There were plenty of the misbegot there. One fellow wrote incessantly, in free verse, about his visits to his psychiatrist. Of course, I never knew if they were real visits or imaginary visits, I just know we all got to a saturation point about his inner workings and gleeful angst pretty quickly. Maybe it was theraputic for him to write all of his inner thoughts out. That's fine. I do the same thing. I just don't share them in a public forum where my real or imaginary troubles can bore others.
No comments:
Post a Comment