Yesterday right before I was about to leave work, they asked if I could stick around for another shift. I really did not want to do it at all, even though i knew I had nothing to really do, besides try to write something for three hours, and i really need the money. So I had to take a few deep breaths and then I accepted it. It was fine, and then when I got off work I felt a lot better than I felt the night before, when I just tried and tried to write something. I did end up writing something that night, by the way. It was this weird vignette about a guy whose dad made him build a porch when he was eight years old and he mangled it up so it looked like an MC Escher etching and then later in life he looks at it and almost trips over a family of abnormally peaceful badgers. Sounds more like a dream I had then something I wrote in full consciousness. I dreamt last night that I had taken charge of a diseased leopard in order to get a few free steaks in the mail. Totally worth it.

I was thinking maybe I’ll just have to write really fast and try to finish stories in one go, that way I don’t lose interest in them. Like now I don’t want to write about those goddamn badgers, what the hell was I thinking? Or that road trip I put in ten thousand words on, that shit was fun to read but I don’t know what to say about it now. Guess I’ll just have to push myself.