Much of last year has been disorderly, to say the least. I did not get uninterrupted moments for writing, no thoughts or ideas or even the strength to finish half-done stories after the massive changes in life. This resulted in heaps of creative frustration that piled up within. I could, in fact, see the mountainous pile poking out of my head one morning. Not only that, I realized my creative frustration was showing its ugly side in unnatural ways, only to confound me and my actions.