Okay, so, more about that thing I wrote today.

The paralells to my own life are obvious. Paf isn’t me, but there’s a lot of me in Paf. There;s also a lot of me in Reg.

This is how writers deal with their issues. by making them characters and having them interact.  Reg and Paf are two parts of me that needed to get together, in a sense.

The Wolf Brothers are like my childhood bullies. Paf fleeing them is like me fleeing my bullies, although unlike me, Paf found comfort, protection. and solace in the simple folk of Crooktail Junction.

Helps to be cute, I guess.

Speaking of which, everybody loving Paf is, obviously, a fantasy of mine. What lonely child has not dreamed of a world where everybody is nice to him or her? Where there are nothing but good vibes, love and happiness and joy, and where they feel warm and welcome and worthy and loved.

I sure as heck did.

As for him having to leave to eat, that’s clearly a metaphor for the fact that I have been emotionally starving for a very long time because this life I lead, while safe, does not contain all the emotional nutrients to survive.

So I need to go out there and face the big scary world and become an adult in order to get what I need to go live on my own.

So that’s the metaphors. I hope that didn’t spoil the story for you.

I am encouraged by the fact that I felt compelled to write it. So compelled that I sat there for over four hours doing nothing but writing in order to get it done. I’ve always wanted to be the sort of person who gets stirred into action by inspiration, but I have been too much the action-repressed depressive for it to happen.

So I take the fact that it happened and happened so strongly to be a sign that I am healing up nicely inside and that I am shedding my heavy emotional burden and finally getting the lightness of spirit I need to really fly.

So far, I have not had some kind of big feeling of catharsis or any massive psychological revelations resulting from writing the fucking thing. I am, however, very very tired. This all happened after three days of only getting poor, shallow sleep – possibly not a coincidence.

Dunno what got into me that made it so hard to sleep and even harder to stay asleep. mental overstimulation, perhaps, or some kind of psychological change that started in the lowest levels of my mind and then had to keep me awake as it worked it way up through the layers of my mind to the conscious mind and made me write the damned story in order to get heard.

All I know is that right now, I am sleepy as hell, despite having gotten five hours of sleep already. Think I will go back to bed now.

Might write more later, might not.

Either way, I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.