Three days without writing and I’m physically itching. I can’t settle. I lie in bed at night, so tired, thoughts I didn’t compose and words I didn’t purge battering at the inside of my skull like formless, frantic bees. Like I’m standing under a pylon — that anxious, electric buzz that sets your teeth on edge. My thoughts won’t collect so I have nothing to say, but I have to offload some clauses, decant some constructions, before the top of my head pops off.
I have ALL THESE PHOTOS I want to post, but I don’t have Photoshop at the moment. Here’s the cutest little dude in the world anyway:
And the cutest slightly-bigger-dude, too:
Okay, as you were.