Yesterday my sister remarked to my mom that I am in the best shape she's ever seen me in (despite me being the complete opposite of fat when I was in my early twenties). That made me feel pretty good, but then she started in on how Tom Hanks is a murdering pedophile, and the good feelings took a sharp exit.
Today, everybody up and went to the park, which means I could write, I could blog, I could dance around wildly in my underwear (or less), or I could record some audio. Hmm. Think I'll actually do the audio thing for a while.
It's over a hundred out today, and I went for a drive, then stood in the sun talking to a guy on his porch about action figures (yes, my life is damned exotic sometimes). But now I'm sweaty and foul-smelling and uncomfortable, and the last thing I want to do is sit down and write. But perhaps that's when you need to write the most--when it's hard.
Well, it's 1:16am and I only have 408 words written. And it's glorious--I just don't care. Maybe, if I manage to scrape together two shits, I can make it to five hundred words today, but hey kids, like that shirt that my niece said everyone in her junior high wore announced:
Today, I posted both a Rish Outcast (on here) and a Patreon Address (on here) and recorded about seventy minutes of an audiobook. I'm gonna call that good enough.
Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In August: 100
Words Today: 653
Words In August: 653
No comments:
Post a Comment