I’m trying to sleep.
Now FUCK OFF
and leave me alone!
Wait, wait please come back.
That’s my hourly conversation with words or something along those lines.
I have a seriously dysfunctional relationship with words. A love hate relationship.
Picture War of the Roses. That’s me and words.
One minute I’d be pandering to them, begging and pleading for some light and the next I just want them to go away. The influx is too much.
Notebooks of all sizes. One that even slips unassumingly into my back pocket like a mini gun a woman slips into her garter.
Large ones as big as my appetite for words.
Medium ones, just enough to show people I am writing something but small enough to look like a work diary.
On the phone jotter app
On the phone notepad app
The PC that is always on.
Calligraphy pens and paper/books.
Only thing I am missing is a typewriter. Gotsta get me a typey
Are you as addicted as I am?