Please forgive the footprints and bragplaints

You know you're a writer when writing is a disease. But having the disease doesn't make you any good.

I can't stop myself from writing. Being addicted to it is a skill I chose to learn, and I took specific steps, and eventually found myself dependent on the drug. I made myself an alcoholic of words. It happened by degrees, ones I chose. But now I can't undo it.

As for what it takes to turn the disease into being any good, I don't know. I'll tell you if I'm ever any good.

Theoretically antsy

I've always found it very mysterious that when you break a glass, there are pieces on the floor a while, and then they are gone. You keep finding and stepping on little shards you've overlooked. Then suddenly there are no more and you forget it ever happened, even though, you know with the assurance of a cardinal, there's still glass on the floor. There's always just one more tiny piece. You can pick up a long trail of them until the Earth is swallowed up by the Sun. But eventually you don't, and instead you forget, and because you have forgotten, the floor is free of glass, and never bites your foot.