"art stress" fucking sucks.

   I'm here, re-doing some of the formatting, and font sizing, and all that... I just opened the file, I have the first draft sitting next to me in a soft cover form, and I just had this moment of like "ohh, fuck!"

   The thing is pretty deep in content, maybe not in physicality due to the sizing and DPI and printing issues, and bullshit like that, but anyways, theres hella words just looking back at me, and every word, every sentence ultimately means something.  Every link in the chain has a purpose, just like every word in this story.. and I have these big ideas to re-format, and re-size here and there, and add in a bunch of lines I wrote... I mean a ton of content I wrote, but anyways... I equate this whole moment with having a kid.  Yes.  Having a child.  A son to be exact.

   I pretty much have this kid looking back at me, and I just feel like:  Ohhhh shhhhhittttt!

   Something that started out kinda fun, and kinda dreamy.. It's all pretty serious, and out of control now.  It's here, it's alive.. it's hair is crazy, its future is dependent on me, and im dependent on the kid in return.

I thought artwork, and writing, and publishing, and all that.. I thought it was supposed to be fun, but now its just a two headed bitch