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The Locked Bathroom

It's a funny thing about a blog that no one knows about yet. It's like a locked bathroom, a magic sanctuary, a junior high school journal. You can just sit in it, rummaging around in the old bellybutton for wayward lint, maybe sing off-key a little bit or stare off into space, and nobody's the wiser, the more grossed out, or irritated. Even after I hit the "Publish" button, I think I'm going to pretend I didn't.

Prelude to Five Hundred Words

10/5/2014

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Maybe I should work on my character sketches
No I should just keep drafting.
It doesn't feel like anyone might call
I wish someone might call
Am I narcissist
What exactly is a narcissist
What would be the opposite of a narcissist
I wonder if I should run around the block
Why did I drink that coffee so late in the afternoon?
Should I make another cup of coffee?
Googling India's  Carvaka movement would be fun.
Are people still having parties?
It feels like forever since I got invited to a party.
If I washed those three pots, the dishes really would be all done.
What would it be like to never go on Twitter again.
Maybe I don't want things hard enough.
Do I want things hard enough?
Are you a better person if you want things or don't want things.
There's just nothing better than pastry cream.
I should work on my character sketches.
How long exactly would it take to make pastry cream?
To sketch pastry cream?
To sketch a character who loves but is allergic to pastry cream?
Wouldn't it be perfect if that was a perfect solution for something?
How did it get to be perfectly midnight.
It's perfectly midnight.
An invitation to 500 imperfect words.







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