Suppose that each time you succeed,
you quit all feelings that resemble interest,
walk away with little to show for your joy
and distrust of that remainder.
-12.22.2017, the latest #spampoetry.
Why, yes, I did spend the better part of my non-working day evaluating WriteMonkey, FocusWriter and the latest iteration of Scrivener versus not investing/re-investing in any of them and sticking with random scrawled notes on Post-Its translated into WordPad (though, these days, it’ll more likely be Notepad++ with word wrap turned on), then crammed into Microsoft Word.1
I came to no conclusion beyond that I shouldn’t have bought ice cream yesterday, because there is now ice cream in my house, which means I can stop this spinning and have some ice cream.
Though, it is nearly 11:30, and I have a workout scheduled tomorrow…
Yeah, I’ll skip the ice cream in favor of drinking a glass of water and going to bed.
1I signed up for some creative accountability in the New Year. Or accounting of my creativity, that is, stuff WithMyOwnNameOnItAndCrapWasThisAGoodIdea?