For you, but mostly for me.

When I write, I am here, I am there, I am inside the story, I am inside your head as you read whatever I write, as I speak my words out loud to the room. As I describe being hit by a wave on a shore, my obsession with graveyards, my experiences falling in and out of love, these are all expressions of myself. Yes, they exist, and I may or may not have arranged them in a perfect pattern to make sense to you. I am drawn to writing as soon as i sense it, whether my location may be in any of these places I write about. And when it happens i feel momentarily invigorated, an orgasmic sense of something recognized and understood and captured, a reflection of myself.

Faction?

Today, I tricked the dryer into accepting a Canadian quarter, but something that really got me to me is that sometimes, late at night, I stand in my window with my kittehs and I watch all the cars drive through the busy intersection. I wonder where they're going at this late hour, who is with them, what their names are, and if I ever met them would they be potential characters in one of my stories. But tonight I mostly just wondered why I care and why I am awake staring at them at two in the morning wearing only my under-roos...

It confirmed my suspicion that I am really just a character in a badly written story, probably one of my own...