chapter four: annulment of marriage

slowly weaning myself off stories like a stimulant of your choice. what I need is a collection. I need to write seven or eight stories and put them in a book and lay the last four years to rest and keep moving. I don't want to keep moving until I've buried all that shit, it doesn't make sense to just plow on, ideas don't suffocate the same way kittens do in christmas boxes. that morbidity was almost intentional. sigh.

what I'd like to do is write a love story at the end of all this. fire off fifty thousand words by the end of the year. that'll be spring. summer will be the love story, and it'll take all summer. it'll be good timing, since I can match writing with my pace at work. easy. just like that.

immediate steps are self-evident. I have to collapse this ponzi scheme I've built before it steals from me that bit of wisdom. I'll want everything I can get my head around and probably some bullshit token to remind me of the only place that kind of turnaround can come from. I've got a good start to it, though, stayed up all last night writing about W.E.B. DuBois, and now I'm at a library, printing out my paper and staying awake. awake.

know the cheesiest line I ever read? some lemony snicket book. I was thirteen or twelve. it was the first one, there was a part near the end where a boy's reading law to save his sister from marrying the Count, and the boy was having a hard time staying awake, cause law books are very dense. it said, "He found himself reading the same line over and over. He found himself reading the same line over and over. He found himself reading the same line over and over." I felt violated.