The story I'm working on for the next meeting of ye newe writing grouppe is kicking my ass. It's bizarre writing about a daughter I don't have, much less one who knows she's a purely literary creation and resents me for it. It was much easier when she simply made a minor appearance in Axis Mundi Sum.
I've realized lately that my listening habits have become downright flaccid. If it's not on my hard drive or in the box of LPs directly next to the turntable, I haven't listened to it in a while. I've spent the weekend thus far rectifying this abominable situation, with good results. There's still a metrick fuckton of stuff I need to get to, however.
Christ, sometimes I feel like punching myself in the mouth for thinking that shit like this is even slightly consequential. Instead of fucking up my teeth further, I opt for being thankful that I'm still in one piece- physically and mentally- and have unfailingly amazing folks to call my friends.
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