I’m well aware of the side effects of giving in to gluttony. At some point it’s going to come back on me. Despite the claims of the little purple pill,[1] when one overindulges, there is no short-term fix, only long, hard consequences. At some point in the near future, I will have to pay for my writing excesses with the all-too-familiar pangs of regret.

To me
I think fast and write quickly; there is no time for temperance. Write, write, write, and suffer the ill-effects later. I regurgitate every random thought that passes. There must be some value in the worst of it. How much? Well, that can be decided later in the trim-down-to-svelte phase.
Insatiable me, T.

The rough draft process of writing is so exciting! I feel such success as I watch the manuscript expand with each addition. The contents are dubious in origin and even more doubtful in merit, but I judge them the same way I evaluate the contents of my refrigerator.[2]

I first try to recall with fond memory, what it once was originally and then I move past that image and try to imagine what it could become with a few new additions, judicious blending and a new appealing title.

To me:
The children are again wondering about my version of bangers and mash. I assure them that it is a delicacy in England as I wonder to myself, “Is there anything delicate about England?”
I just throw together last weeks leftovers and heat it good. Blimey, it can be delicious, but it’s never boring, neither the food nor the accompanying conversation.

Like the contents of the fridge, writing has such potential, but the quantity of the ingredients is no guarantee for success, particularly when I toss everything from the larder into the mix. While it doesn’t always result in gourmet, the usual outcome is surprisingly palatable and depending on my level of desperation, I am pleasantly surprised at what I can stomach.

To me
Dinner tonight was fast food. The black jelly bean rolling around the floorboards counts. I snagged it up! Yum! T.

Realty Bite: Stress feeds on stress

[1] Whatever it is, I’m convinced that I must get it—more of it! I need it!
[2] There is special consideration given to items whose tentacles unwrap from the container long enough to scream, “Don’t use me.”

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