I never do this. It’s a tiny, jumbled sliver of material I’m working on though, so it doesn’t make me twitchy.
I went to bed late last night, as is the trend. Words in her voice popped into my head before I turned off the light.
I wrote this for her:
What is this? I mean, really. What? What is this? How did I get here, and how do I get back to where I started? Someone hand me a walkthrough. Seriously.
Can I have these last eight years back? Let me— let me just start over from there. I don’t know what I’d do differently. Maybe I’d just get more sleep. Scratch that, actually. I spent too much of those years unconscious anyway.
and realized– or fully admitted, perhaps– that my Everyday and my protagonist’s Purgatory had become one and the same.
Usually I try to make a distinction between Me and Me-Shaped Characters. This time? Nooope.
I don’t know how I feel about that.
In other news: I learned that music sounds better when you’re getting things done. My theory, anyway. I mean, yesterday was almost fun.