April 1, 2008
I said I wasn’t going to subscribe to writing April, because when I write (“write”) I can’t read, and there’s an intimidating stack of classics on my bedside, mocking me. “Remember when you were going to be a pretentious, poor English major?” they say. “We mock you now.” I don’t really want to enter into an abusive relationship with Faulkner, so here I am. Just typing. About stuff. Nothing particular. OH! I got a parking ticket today. That was exciting/enraging. That’s about it. No news. Letting the fingers dance on the keys. Just riding the wave to word number 100.