Sunday, April 30, 2017

Buck


I barely met my 10,000 word goal for the month of April. Family stuff, including a text message I wasn’t looking forward to receiving slowed my progress. It’s interesting how people from the same family can have such different backgrounds. I suppose we diverge as we age. For the sake of self-protection I placed myself on the losing side of an argument. It’s hard to say if that was the right choice. I suppose only time will tell unless I relent. The text message feels like such an intrusion. I thought of Buck Mulligan, Haines, and whoever else was there.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Year


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Today is one year since I communicated with my muse. She's still my muse anyway. Today I reached 9,515 new words for the month of April. I have one more day to hit my monthly goal of 10,00 new words. This will be the first time I hit 10,000 words in a month since beginning the sequel to The Scribbled Victims. This is a big deal to me because it signals that I have gotten past that depression that tormented me since January. I wish I could tell my muse about it. Oh well. I'm still happy for myself anyway.

Friday, April 28, 2017

Thirty


Cynthia and I went out to dinner tonight before going to Release the Bats. We had to park much further away from the club than we usually do so we had a long walk. When we got to the club and the bouncer asked Cynthia for her ID, she remembered she left it in the car so we had to walk all the way back to get it. Once we were inside, I had a soda while Cynthia had a Washington Apple. We danced for three songs before getting bored. We left. We were probably there for only thirty minutes.

After the club. Trying to look like bitches.

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Band-Aid

I’m pretending I’ve found a band-aid when I haven’t. I’m just going to keep ignoring you until I do find one. Hopefully it’ll make me forget the things you’ve done and assuage the desire to throw it in your face. Ultimately, I must forget what you meant to me. 


I texted with someone who wasn’t critical of me, but let me know some shitty things I’ve said and done to her. I wish I had outside perspectives more often. It would help. Most people don’t tell me what they think of me. But I guess I don’t tell them either.