freewriting. for thirty minutes, i do nothing but write down every conscious thought that runs through my mind. while petting my dog, Licorice. outside in the dusk as a storm brewed.
Now my hand smells like dog. It didn't for a while. Weird.
I should repaint my toenails.
I wonder why my stomach is so loud.
Is that cloud or sky?
People tell me I'm pretty a lot. I hope it doesn't get to me.
That sounds like a cartoon rocket--no, meteor--about to strike.
The street lamp turned on. Narnia.
My phone vibrating on concrete sounds terrible.
My hair looks really good.
Licorice just walked away while I was still petting her. That's literally never happened before.
I should write that script.
I never blogged about Independence Day. I should've. Wish I had.
Remember when Taylor and I both thought it was "independAnce?"
I miss dance. I miss Mrs. Lauren.
Good lord. Gotta send her her present.
Ellie's wedding present.
Remember when we found Narnia?
Remember when the trees talked and we heard Susan's horn and saw a wolf?
Remember when you thought you controlled the wind?
It's really pleasant out here.
I have to work tomorrow.
Tomorrow is me and Sam's three-monthiversary. Hm.
The trees look so dark.
Remember--lightning--when you used to talk stories? Why don't you anymore? Not everything has to mean something, get finished. It's for fun. Just 'cuz.
"A lacy flood of goosebumps." I like that.
He does not give me goosebumps. Shit.
How come--come XD--you get to lie and no one else does? Because I can already trust myself.
Your mouth gets all tense when you write. It's 'cuz I can't get my hand to move fast enough--innuendo--and it's borderline stressful.
I could walk to Greensboro. What if I did? It's totally possible. I could stab threatening people with my hair clip.
I know how to rip someone's ear off.
My nails are bad.
My shoulder hurts. It's tense.
He rubs my shoulders. Why is he so nice to me? I'm not nearly as nice to him.
I should be.
Gah, how? I don't even...*sigh*
Lightning. Me gusta.
I wanna live outside.
Ew, sit up. This isn't your shirt. The concrete will pick it.
Sarah said "shit" the other day. It's all my fault.
These shorts are probably too short. How come Mom and Daddy let me wear them? That's so weird.
I wonder how strict I'll be. PC thinks he'll be really strict about clothing. That's
He--hm, let's not go there. Go away.
I wanna go to Campbell right now. New place. Work for my brain.
Friggin' Ryan. Good god, how--he could write a book called How Not to Get Stephanie to Like You. Ignore my relationship status; ask me my bra size, how far I've gone, what I wear to bed, if my boyfriend and I behave; tell me I'm pretty six million times. GOOD GOD. I hate him sort of. Not yet. But ugh. F--screw off, Ryan.
I gotta get Licky out of the garage.
I have double standards.
That was such a weird sound o_o
I've gained weight. I think.
What if I lived on an island?
Remember that story about kids on an island? That's actually really good.
Aw damn. Neighbors.
I cussed in the pool parking lot. This has to stop. What if someone had heard me?
Is this freewriting?
I should journal.
I think no one should ever see this.
Whaat? It hasn't even gotten dirty.
Good lord, do NOT even think anything--stop it.
I've been clean for 18 months.
It was--it has been--difficult. Is.
I wonder what would happen if I married him?
What do you mean "happen?"
Just...hang on. Lightning.
Dammit, I keep missing the good lightning.
Is that the only swear word you use?
You should talk more. Don't lose the intellectual aspects.
Spider. Ew, what if it crawls in your shorts again?
You should go inside. You can hardly see this paper.