It feels good to write again. Actually, I formed the last sentence before I sat down and typed it, which probably means I should have said, it feels good to think about writing again. It seems I can never escape the fact that I enjoy the final product of my writing much more than the process.
Today, although I have nothing much to write about, I did need to write something. And not because I’m feeling guilty about not having written—my output from this weekend soothed any such thoughts—and not because I haven’t posted in a while—my doodles, while technical not writings, do show up as new content (by the way, I don’t always post my doodles to the front page; there are lots more in the doodles page that either I didn’t think worthy of a front page posting, or would make the front page too doodle heavy)—but more because I’m in a great mood now, and I don’t want to waste that mood. I woke up with another terrible headache, and it took most of the day and a gym visitation for me to find this stride, and now that I’m skipping along, I don’t want to waste the movement. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention, I’m back on the gym track. I hired yet another personal trainer (realizing that I am useless without external motivation, at least for gym goings), and today was my fourth session. I’m bigger and stronger, so strong that if I flexed, I’d poke out the Doolies’s eyes—at least, that’s what I keep warning her.
The following writing isn’t much of a story, but it is writing, in a sick and sadistic and mildly entertaining way. It doesn’t go anywhere and there’s not much of a point to it. It’s just based on what I was seeing around me when I started writing. I guess I’m putting excuses down because I don’t know what else to say about it.