Neighbors say: She Was A Loner; Nice Enough, Though.

I've begun reading The Artist's Way.

That's just peachy. I'm here, admitting it to no one at all, but I don't mind. The thing is, during my third day of Morning Pages, I became so angry that I broke my pen. The Fuck? I flew into a rage. My quill became a Weapon of Mass Destruction. Because of ... uh ... what?

Self-discovery is all well and good, but what if the Me I discover is completely unhinged? Who will do the laundry?