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?