cliks

There have been so many days of late during which I suddenly and forcefully remember what that particular day felt like a year ago.

It's not a good or honorable reminiscence.


I can in all confidence say that I'm tired of the helplessness and the unfocused terror. I wish that time had the marked delineations of calendar years and chapters in novels. When a time is over, the next one is different, affording the possibility to let things carry over just a little bit less.

Also, I really hate it when people sing in crowded places in just such a way as to show off how good they are at singing. We get it, you're special and we're all very envious. Whatever happened to wearing talent with grace, to not constantly having to prove yourself?

End tangent, and on.

Does anyone follow the advice they give? Or is possessing human insight like being a muse- using it for others comes naturally, but poor Salma Hayek can't write a thing for herself?

The new experiment of the off-calendar year is to see if deciding a thing makes it believable, makes it real.