The self-censor's dilemma

Everytime I write a review I think I have overcome my old demon, but in actual fact it manifests in different forms, and I don't catch it until I'm about 800 words in and am wondering why the closing paragraph is so excruciatingly hard to come by. It occurs then that the 'review' is a sham and I must write it all again, which although will be a massively satisfying undertaking and will probably come out 'right', is also very time consuming and mentally exhausting. I don't know why I ignore my instincts until the very end, as if I can write one thing in my blog about a show and then another in a magazine. *Extreme self-vexation* As if in the attempt to rephrase and un-catty-fy 'empty exercise' and 'vaccous enterprise', some guilt complex kicks in and I go the other extreme to neuter any opinion I might have. Stupid stupid fear and stupid stupid need to be liked universally. Sometimes I see my 'invisible' teachers like Borges standing over me with a whipping stick and a look of complete disdain on their faces...

The grasshopper is still learning... >_<