Three hours ago, I was going to write something and then I was going to go to bed. I was going to go to bed at a normal hour, like a normal person.

See, I've got a lunch date with HatGirl and I want to be refreshed and shit. So I was going to go to bed at 12:30 or so, right after I wrote something.

And here I still sit.

Better late than never, perhaps?

There is a quote by Ernest Hemingway on NakedGirl's blog.

There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

Sounds like something I'd say, doesn't it? Except for the typewriter part. I'm not that old.

Anyway, I was thinking today that I need to stop this bleeding.

Or not.

Maybe, instead, I should slice the veins in my soul and just let myself pour.

How long would I bleed? Forever?

That would be gross.