So all my raggedy, god-awful spewings go here for now.
I keep thinking
maybe inspiration will come at 5
maybe at 9
maybe at 10 30
it never does.
Writing is just sitting down and doing it.
Just like almost everything else in life, right?
Except for love.
And cooking.
I've got a terribly dry throat and about 12 other things I could find to complain about, but I won't.
I started writing in a little red notebook the other day. It has been the best thing. I need to learn how to document really bad things. I can do average, good, and very good. Mediocre, true, and abstract. I cannot do sweet, I cannot do bad.
Hm.
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