I hate how anxious I get before having my writing critiqued. I told my therapist that I was pretty sure they would not like Chapter Four so much and she said that's what you said about the last three chapters and I said yes but those chapters didn't add like sixteen new narrative viewpoints and take place in eighteenth-century Bulgaria.
The idea seems to be that if I keep doing this I will eventually hate it less and cease to feel as if my heart is being squeezed into an hourglass shape and my intestines tied in a knot. Right now, however, I feel both anxious and kind of stupid, just as I feel before a date. What kind of an idiot keeps doing something this unpleasant?