tabula rasa

I think - I cling so fiercely to my writing and my art because so little else of what I do comes from within me. Other than that, I am too quick to compete, to submit, to accommodate, to argue - all actions in response to others. I am a person of remarkably little initiative; although pride would deny it, I need people to tell me what to do. Only my stories and my drawings come from somewhere so deep that I can no longer accurately trace back the stimuli that went into their creation, from what I might call my soul.

My mind works through my hands; lips stutter and halt.

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On the plus side - this is way out in "the land of non sequitur", as my high school history teacher would have said - I am not allergic to sulfa antibiotics (in this case, trimethoprim-sulfamethoxazole).