Forget thinking. I am crazy. Why am I constantly putting myself through this writing stuff? Coming up with topics under different themes. Having two pseudonyms. Talking to myself in my head and out loud. Making up people, okay, characters who I care about. Who I put into strange situations. Getting mad when they won’t do what I started and go do something better.
Or when the pencil won’t recreate on the paper what I saw in my head.
The needle that keeps poking out the wrong place when I’m trying to cross stitch.
Let alone the guitar and violin sounding like bullfrogs and moose looking for mates.
Why do I do this to myself?
I must be crazy.
No, it’s relaxing – see October 14’s post.
Yes, I’m crazy and I’m pretty sure you are, too.