January 17, 2015
I thought about writing this entry tomorrow. I figured I'd have the memories of what happened today and just write from that. But it wouldn't be real. I wouldn't have been in the moment, with the goal of writing at hand. Writing is a difficult practice, with deadlines to be met, operating apart from the facility of inspiration. I took a photo of my friend's cardboard insert that the three of us have been painting on in our own sections. Posted it as a profile picture. I don't care what I look like anymore, I care about what I do.