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"Gardening is not a rational act." (Margaret Atwood)

Since yesterday was such a hopeless failure regardless of how many bodily things were dealt with, the only acceptable word count for today is two thousand words. And I can't just go "blah, blah, fishcakes" over and over again. Because that would be ridiculous. Ridiculous like someone filling up two pages with a character repeating "HA!"[1]

Either way, as I have jasmine rice coming out of every possible cupboard you could imagine, I'm going to steam some for dinner and then supplicate myself at the Temple Called Literature until the goddamn words make themselves known. It's not like I don't know what I'm going to write, honestly - I even have plans, albeit in my head. It's just that initial impulse to actually carry the act out. Goddamn[2] literary paralysis...

[1] - Damn. Lorrie Moore already did that in "Real Estate."
[2] - I like cussin', dammit.

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