I was away from OC for over 6 months. Living in a cabin in a rented cabin in big bear, on a bunk bed in my neices room, and in a trailer in San Diego. Life was interesting, but fullfilling in a very strange way. It's hard for me to say that it was "bad" when I consider how bad other people really have it, but when compared to my own life it could have been some of the worst couple months of my life thus far. But in another way it's been some of the best times. I didn't ever really have that much fun, I was never really that happy, I wasn't even that productive. But what I did get a chance to finally do was think and think and think. I thought so much that I began to think about my actual thoughts themselves. What are they made of? Why do I think what I do when I do and why don't I think about something else?

I know myself pretty well - or at least I thought I did. I seem to know exactly what I'm doing somewhere inside me, even if at the time I feel like I have no clue. I've sabatauged myself in a very percise manner. I knew I would try to give up and give in, but knowing that I would I had to do something to prevent it. So I set myself up. I made sure I had no money, no credit cards, no stable place to stay, I left myself with NO easy options other than finishing my book and having it be a sucess. It's never really been that I've lacked or had confidence in myself as much as having confidence in what i've found and the book I could write about it. It was kinda like a "If you build it they will come" type of thing but "if you write it they will read"
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