Make It Go

I seem to have decided that I need to write for an hour a day just to get my ass in gear -- journally writing, poemy writing, thinksy writing -- it doesn't matter, all of them together, ideally. Whatever comes is fine.

But I started last night after a quantity of boxed wine ("Pinot Evil" -- perhaps we should have paid more heed to the name?) and that was a hilarity, for real. I am both appalled and delighted (also amused) by the ridiculous magnanimous far-reaching shameless expanse of text that came out of THAT. The terrible soaring faith in myself. Holy hell.