Friday, April 16


Finished reading both "Endless Nights" and "Pattern Recognition" this afternoon.

At times my mood has been poisonous today, but I did enjoy this period of reading. Something deeply satisfying about finishing something. Getting all the way through. Not bailing. I have this very deeply ingrained tendency to not finish things. How many first chapters have I written? How many fragments that never went anywhere? Is it, in the end, just laziness? Am I guilty as charged? Was he* right about me?

*Dad, obviously

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