My writing process is me, terribly sleep deprived, slamming unhealthy supplements while I open tabs of Firefox and make myself close them before I look at crap. Then I make jokes no one gets and somewhere a tragedy happens that makes it seem like I’m laughing at dead people. Seriously, the world is convergent. I laugh at a rabbit getting booped, and twenty minutes later the Russian Rabbit Apartment Complex goes up in flames with two hundred dead.

I miss my books; I miss my bed; I want a dog. Happy St Patrick’s Day.

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