A poem, a part of a chapter of my book, something on here.
Each its own failure.
I'm no Bukowski. I haven't had enough women to be Bukowski.
I'm probably dehydrated. I'm probably always dehydrated.
I can't get in the habit of drinking things that aren't coffee.
Trying not to drink coffee today. Fell asleep studying instead.
Dealing with being an introvert today.
Not that today I'm particularly extra introverted compared to usual.
I'm the only girl I know who gets more distracted by blank paper than conversation.
There is a book I want to see in the research collections. It's about Virginia Woolf and bookbinding. I need to read more. I need to study.
I feel like a writer who doesn't write anything important.
(I wish I knew where this was)
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