words on a page

so, here's the deal. i haven't written, and if i have written, i'm not proud of it. but like it does, my life reminds me to do shit. so, here i am, doing shit - writing shit. and let's be clear. it's shit.

but i can't go around giving advice about writing and "just do it" and "there is no pressure" and "who cares about what people think" without actually fucking writing. i can't believe i've gotten away with it for this long. but alas, i have escaped the fraud police. i hear they aren't real anyway. also, you should check out this lady (i use the term loosely - and i'm pretty sure she'd be offended if i didn't think i should use is loosely - she's likely planning my demise as we speak) - she's funny and amazing and interesting. read her stuff, it is NOT shit.

so - hi - i'm writing.

also, this author said this:

so yeah, it's not brilliant. it's not really about anything. it has no story or arc. it is me putting words on a page because for some reason i feel compelled to do so even though the last five months, i have been patently unable to do this very thing. can you imagine the gas buildup? i mean, if you have ever felt extreme gas that just won't move anywhere and won't go away and just rolls around at the top and bottom of your GI, teasing you that it will escape - yeah - for five months straight. i'm not saying this is satisfying, but sometimes it doesn't feel good when it stops, it just stops happening.

also, i appear to be 12.

we'll see if i can do it again tomorrow. i have little faith. i currently hate everything i wrote. but at least i wrote, yeah?