benlehman

There are some moments in writing and, I imagine, in art, in which you get completely overwhelmed and have no idea what you are doing only to find, in the end, that it had to have happened that way.

As far as I can tell, this can only be explained as some for of possession. I will leave the question of its origin to theologians and psychologists.

Yesterday had a lot of those, one big one in particular involving fire, which has always been a weak point for me. Too many, one might say. So many that I didn't finish my homework, or sleep enough, and today I am tired and ill-prepared for class and *still* haven't written enough.

(Izzy: I think you might like this scene. The last bits have a very familiar vibe. Albeit nappier.)