Finished a short essay that I’ll submit. Poem too. Not paying any admission fees or reader fees, none of that.
Quiet in house. And everyone’s here. Over a thousand words for day already. How. Think ‘cause I’ve decided. Something.
10:47 What am I doing today. What do you want to do. Question, I guess good.
Just noticed I’m at the desk, not on couch. Goddamnit.
What is it about this desk that’s not a fucking desk. Why do I keep coming back then cursing self and IT afterward? That’s a sickness, right? Addiction? Addiction to a desk?