So, I'm writing in my room. I've hardly slept in 3 or 4 days. I'm shivering. I realize I'm writing a book, and for a moment I'm proud of myself. Then I realize that I haven't eaten all day and barely ate the day before that. This disturbs me so I get up and weigh myself, to find that I weigh 5 fewer pounds than I did 4 days ago. I wonder if I'm manic. I don't feel manic. I wonder if I'm losing it. Likely. I wonder if this is what being a starving artist is. Starving author? It's funny. I never considered myself to be good enough to deserve the title "Author" because I put out shitty ramblings like this. Now I am wringing so much that I'm sleeping less and my will to write has replaced my will to eat. I still feel like I don't deserve that title. If I don't feel like I deserve it now, will I ever deserve it? And are Real Authors this insecure? I know Franz Kafka would criticize himself and hardly pick up a pen for months. But he was good.