I eagerly grasp at my intention to slip from productive pursuits to lethargy with hands that mean to strangle… I’m grappling with my will to get back to writing from the more alluring computer work that has filled my day. I sit pretentiously in Linear Algebra class filling this page with rhetorical dribble. I’ll pass an integral form of my psyche onto my surroundings just right after my left armpit develops the ability to, at will, create a different recipe for tapioka pudding thrice an hour. At least I have found my bitchin’ pen.
Further elaborating, actually – what is the point to writing if you have nothing to write about? To hone your skills? To entertain yourself at a later date with easy, virtually idea-less writing? Yup Yup…
The anchor must come free. Um, after class.
