The joy of writing

I didn't go to the yoga class tonight. That's the bad news. I should've gone to yoga class because it would have been good for me with all that inner peace and whatnot. But I didn't go. However, I have a good reason, not really a good reason in the sense that it would get me out of work or jury duty or a midterm. But a good reason in the sense that it was good for me. A step forward. Or is it a step backward? Anyway. . . I was writing and I lost track of the time. I can't remember when that happened to me last. Lately, it seems as though I write with some arbitrary temporal quota. I must write for two hours today. I look at the clock. Ten minutes. Clock. Fifteen minutes. Clock. Are you shittin' me? Close enough. But today I didn't look at the clock once. I just wrote and wrote and wrote. The story is lame and cheesy and unabashedly not important, and I love writing it. It's fun. I think I may have been smiling while writing. Not pacing around scowling and talking to myself. Smiling. I like writing. Who knew?

I'm grateful for being lame and cheesy and unabashedly not important (20).