Thursday, February 11, 2010

Sick Sense.

I thought I wanted to write the most this month. It's the month to be, it's the month of me, whatever. I wanted to write last week, I wanted to write that day, I wanted to write 5 days after that day, heck I wanted to write every other day.

But the fact that I haven't done anything that I wanted to do on the days that I wanted to do what I wanted, is making me somewhat uncertain today, now that I'm doing it.

I'm not making any sense.

Ah well...has anything ever?

1 comment:

enidajohnson said...

I was glad you were doing it when you were doing it. I was glad you were done with it. I am glad you did it. What you write matters as much as what you write about your writing. As long as you write, you're all right.

Sense is not what IT makes. Sense is what WE make out of it. Is it not? Hehehe. Non-sense, too, then.

(I got the feeling that the picture is of the place where you had your special weekend spent. Hai meh?)