Inspiration, but I'm too tired...

So Mary Shelley managed to write Frankenstein at 18. If she can pump out a book which influenced the entire romanticist movement and practically started the Gothic literature revolution, I can write Alaska in a year, right? 

I was going to finish my first chapter tonight but I worked out and now I'm too fucking tired. Fuck you, counter-productive productive hobbies.

Is it just me or is my life made out of counter-production? 

Gaming and writing cancel each other out, overeating/laziness and working out do the same, intelligence and general lack of common sense reflect it once again, and my love for sociality, people and beauty is negated by my general cynicism, bile and bitterness. Fun!

Disclaimer; This blog is not actually moany bollocks. I'm fairly happy. I just like complaining.