No words were written, but many thoughts danced around.
Slow day, slow mind.
Listening to poetry helped, along with watching one of my favorite Netflix series with writer eyes and addressing my unconscious when the day went on so goddamn slow that silence forced us to have a conversation. It was a good one. She knew more about transpersonal chakras than I did.
I need to read The Egyptian Book of the Dead for the novel. The novel also needs me to play more chess.
I’m tired. I want to blame astrology, but that doesn’t relieve any fatigue. A nap might.
When an author adjusts a character’s dialogue based on their accent does it annoy the reader? I’ve read Trainspotting, so I kind of get it…but…I don’t know. I gradually became less annoyed and learned more about language. I don’t know.