"I was blindsided."
I need to read about 25 more pages in this cursed book before I can feel comfortable doing ridiculous and often funny things on my last Summer day. Leaving me with 168 pages to read later tonight. HA. Reading Like A Writer is somewhat bearable now, but I am often distracted.
I feel as if love is something that can't be avoided or attained altogether. It doesn't concern people, it concerns words. It doesn't concern actions, it concerns pictures.
I have had no coffee today. Somehow I feel this won't last, my brother wanting to hang out and all. It's been making me a bit crazy lately. And I don't need that in times of mounting confusion.
I've got a lot of change to cash in. Ulysses stares at me with a sorrowful glance, disappointed in me for not reading. Francine Prose, you slay me.
She is supposed to be teaching me about paragraphs. Clearly she hasn't helped me at all. Well, then again, this isn't hardly a novel.
I want to see. You know?
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