This won’t be a well-thought out post, I’m warning you. I’m merely using it for an exercise of procrastination and practice, unrelated to current moods and all-around seriousness of these days. My English needs oiling, you see — I haven’t written very very long time.
I felt the urge to make a kind of self-involved blog shit nobody cares about, me included. I’ve mastered the art of rolling my eyes with this kind of stuff, and yet here I am, making a conflicted fool of myself and wasting your time, all in a beautifully packaged mess.
I can’t even begin to explain the confusion inside my head right now. I’ve been hammering away a novel for the first time in years, and it makes me feel incredibly good. It’s a great feeling when you bring new pages to life, even though they may be completely rewritten and disowned by the upcoming revisions. Using a little transparent plastic tube thingy with a metal ball to carve meaningful symbols on the unsuspecting page is a strange predicament.