Nod
Lately I've been having a smidgen of insomnia. So, to combat it, I've decided to bust out a journal and write a ton before I go to sleep. My problem is that I turn out the lights, get cozy, and my brain starts whirring like a KitchenAid. And not in a good way, obviously, since it's keeping me awake.
Round one...mad writing before bed last night. For, like, half an hour. Which was good, since I finally got to articulate (can one articulate on paper?) feelings I've had of late. This is on paper, versus just mulling and fuming and daydreaming and having awful conversations in my head. Which, really, can anything quell (quell?) my inner rage? We all know (well, I know; you all can assume) that I've an aggressive inner voice. That coupled with my apalling penmanship makes for some crazyass reading, let me tell you.
So, yeah. If I suddenly spontaneously combust, seek out the journals for some crazyass reading. The current journal is the Keith Haring skateboard sketch book. (The description...y'know...in case I do combust. Which is possible because it's effing BOILING in the office lately.)
Round one...mad writing before bed last night. For, like, half an hour. Which was good, since I finally got to articulate (can one articulate on paper?) feelings I've had of late. This is on paper, versus just mulling and fuming and daydreaming and having awful conversations in my head. Which, really, can anything quell (quell?) my inner rage? We all know (well, I know; you all can assume) that I've an aggressive inner voice. That coupled with my apalling penmanship makes for some crazyass reading, let me tell you.
So, yeah. If I suddenly spontaneously combust, seek out the journals for some crazyass reading. The current journal is the Keith Haring skateboard sketch book. (The description...y'know...in case I do combust. Which is possible because it's effing BOILING in the office lately.)