Technical Difficulties

Sometimes life demands that I not write on the internet. Blame Hemingway, he is making me write the old fashioned way, with a pen and paper in a notebook, jotted down in the subway, at my desk, whenever I can. It's nothing in particular, just the desire to write but of thoughts, feelings, to visceral and personal to ever consider sharing with the world, let alone the blogosphere. Calling it a desire is an understatement. When I have to write, it feels like the words are exploding out of me and I can't concentrate properly for all of the thoughts swirling in my mind, driving me mad until they find release through my hands onto the paper where at least I can contemplate them with distance rather than living them constantly.

Also, my internet has been rather unreliable lately. Should be fixed soon and then there shall be pictures galore. Happy? I know my parents will be at the very least.