Looking back, my posts for the past week or so have been moderately depressing. It's interesting, because I haven't felt the way I would expect the author of those past entries to feel. Sure, I've been under a bit of stress, but none of it romantically related (for once), and I've actually felt pretty good when I can get out and about. So why the themes of abandonment and loneliness? I really don't know. It's a bit like gardening with unidentified seeds (or what I imagine gardening would be like, as I have been banned from taking care of plants, for the sake of all plants everywhere). You can put all the work and effort into raising it well, you can water it, give it plenty of sun, make sure it's set in fertile soil... but you won't know what it is until it's grown. It's somewhat similar when I write. I can put forth all the effort, and give birth to something that (I hope) either sounds pretty or has some literary merit, but I don't know what it'll be about until I go back and read it over. Weird.