Wednesday, August 24, 2011

We Are All Made of Crazy

Sometimes I wonder what my own capacity is for craziness. Like, am I going to one day go totally crazy? I am trying to write some fiction right now. A novel, actually. Don't laugh; all kinds of fucking idiots have written novels so why shouldn't I. Was that proper semi colon use? Who knows. That's what copyeditors are for. Anyway, if anything is going to drive me crazy one day it is probably going to be writing. Today I was writing on the train, while underground, and the scene I was writing took place in a thunderstorm. When I came up from the tunnel I was totally shocked that it wasn't pouring rain in real life, even though I already knew it wasn't, because it wasn't raining or even threatening to rain when I got on the train in the first place. Yeah, I thought I wrote myself into my own novel. Like the first three hours of the day every time I looked out of the window I was like OH IT STOPPED RAINING. So there it is, my crazy level. Crazy enough to confuse fantasy and reality. Isn't that romantic though, if I go crazy writing? Crazy people are so romantic in theory yet so annoying in reality.
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