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.
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.