Boom

Holy moly! The brains are too much! And I can never write enough! And I really need to get something published so that I can excuse more writing, but somehow I excuse Netflix...

Have you ever had that syndrome where you feel embarrassed about spending your time on something that you really love because you think someone will believe you're wasting your time while at the same time you waste your time on trivial things like Netflix because it's a commonly accepted waste?

Or have you ever checked your email 100 times because you're waiting for a specific email that you know is coming?

In other news, I like collecting names that I might like to use in stories some day. True story: I was transferring ownership of all my Google Drive documents because I abandoned my old email address. After about 20 transfers, Google required me to type in a "Captcha" word to prove I wasn't a robot. I got an amazing slew of names from that. Here are just a few of my favorites: Calder, Kruin, Sysess. Other names I've gotten from misspelling things I was trying to type. Christmas became Hrustams. Mathematicians became Mathem Duciabs.

101.

Well, tarnation. I can't imagine how many books I would have written by now if it weren't for seemingly irrational reasons. I can't imagine how much everyone could have done if it weren't for embarrassment or shame or fear.

102.

It really shows how bored we've become when the most popular extracurricular activity these days is getting offended.

And then I want to watch Netflix late because I have to find out what happens to Emma and all those crazy people in Storybrooke, but there are four or five seasons left, and I literally can't watch them all tonight, but I need answers and resolutions, and I wrote a bit more for Michael, and he's going to be burned at the stake, but I'm not sure how I'm going to resolve that issue, nor do I really know why Father Hissock is doing it, but it sort of makes sense because he fears Michael, and I really have to remember I'm not applying rules to Michael the Traveler, so I enjoyed the last few chapters, but it's tense because I want him to sprout forth in wild freedom, but there has to be something that breaks him through his fears and his resistance, and I am back to never being able to write enough, and you should never split an infinitive, but it doesn't really matter because no one knows grammar in the first place, so slide on by and continue using "poetic license," but don't come crawling to me when your words make no sense, and I do acknowledge my words aren't making sense right now, but that's because it's my rambling blog, and I have utter freedom, but that's not completely true since I only do fully free rambling in my little pocket journal, 103, and now it's probably too late for a sane person to be sending any emails, but a man can totally hope, and I often excuse some of my behaviors by saying "a man can hope" inside my mind, but that's not really a practical way to live, so I'll have to work on that motto,