I’ve lots of things I should be writing, feel like writing. The Novel(tm) should be taking precedence probably, but… I also want to write a short horror story. (5k to 10k words, so, really… not all that short) but I don’t exactly have a plot for it, I just saw a place was looking for them. May 1st deadline. Could be interesting, could be fun. Also for a while I’ve been wanting to write an informative / funny blog on here about How Not To Die When Riding Your Bike Through A Busy City At Night, but I keep not actually doing it. When I return from such bike rides the shower calls to me and then something else will come up and then suddenly I’m over it for the moment. I want to write long, longwinded, redundant, rambling passages exploring my nature. About my body and its visceral reactions. About how such exchanges go beyond enjoyment, and I come alive to all that it is to be myself. I could devote pages and chapters trying to explain it better, but I don’t know that I would be able to. Unstrung and yet played. A tune that swells and recedes but the heart chords always sing out the same. this too, this too is you. *clears throat* as I was saying, I have a slew of ideas and vague things on my writing plate at the moment, but I seem to be having trouble delving too deeply into any of them. I need to, though. I need to. And I need paying work, preferably the kind without a one month delay. I need that terribly, desperately badly. I mislike having my ONE selling fluids, though it seems needful at this moment. I feel … cowardly for not feeling up to trying it myself. We will have to wait and see, I suppose, how things play out. For now I should swallow down this pink and white capsule, and give myself over to sleep.