11:17 pm. Rain shushing on the road outside. Cheap Ikea clock ticking, fridge hums, sad.<\/p>\n
In 7 hours I will be here, again, at this table, coffee in hand. What day is it, how did I get here, what do you want from me nowwwwww. But for now, quiet.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Someone tonight made a good point. When you write with your hand, you’re using one hand. One side of your brain. When you write with a keyboard, you’re using both hands. Both sides of your brain. I see this like a checkerboard scenario. Left side cancels right: you end up with words. Just words. No meaning, no soul, no science. Just words.<\/p>\n
Is it true, though. I can create with both hands.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Little stars, little flowers, asterisks. Asterisks. That word is just wrong. I prefer asterii. I don’t like it when “k” is surrounded by “s”. I guess “k” doesn’t like it either.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
You know, I’ve been separating my paragraphs with asterii since before you were born. Back when I used to write with one hand, using the other hand to hold the paper, not to THINK, just to hold the paper, I still separated ideas, paragraphs, sentences with asterii. <\/p>\n
Even before I knew they were asterii.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
But the word I love most is ampersand. <\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Because of Atwood. Of course. I remember reading along to that poem in Canadian Literature class, practicing the & & & with my black pen. Read “Variations On The Word Sleep”<\/a> and tell me that ampersand<\/i> is not the most beautiful word since, um, since pillbug<\/i>. Or clean<\/i>. Or your favourite word. What’s your favourite word?<\/p>\n We lived in a house once, we had a meeting, what should we call the new house? I said ampersand. Roommate said Serendip. He won.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n I should have said asterisk. I might have. I don’t remember. I might not have said ampersand either.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n You’re distracted now and you hate it here. You should go. ***<\/p>\n Still, I stay. Still.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 11:17 pm. Rain shushing on the road outside. Cheap Ikea clock ticking, fridge hums, sad. In 7 hours I will be here, again, at this table, coffee in hand. What day is it, how did I get here, what do … Continue reading
\nI shouldn’t stay up this late. I should go.<\/p>\n