... for they will one day contain my brain, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof, illegibilities and imperfections abundant...

(I do appreciate that the pack itself was partially opened in delivery and like to pretend that someone checked it to make sure it wasn’t a boxfull of cocaine bricks or something; we all have our addictions, I suppose.)

This morning has been – in a complete 180º from yesterday's clusterfuck – one of those unicornal (I've made up an adjective) rarities: a good writing morning, a phenomenon loosely characterized by feeling as though I've gotten somewhere even if tomorrow might prove it to be nothing but an illusion but that's for tomorrowme to decide; todayme will take the little victory.

Large part of this has been my if-not-new-then-at-least-evolving approach to composing fiction: I’ve written (and deleted) scads of materiel over my shift to Obsidian and a zettelkasten approach, but I had, until this morning, largely let that approach apply only to non-fiction.

And, oh, what a change it's been – a change I intend to explore in greater detail in an upcoming essay / longer newsletter piece / something else (along with this shift in methodology has come the realization that I need at least one more form to fully express what I'm trying to express through my words, written or spoken): best thing, so far: as my concept of what a first draft is transforms (to be discussed in intended), my perfectionistic tendencies have gone by the wayside, freeing me up to try new and weird combinations, with the caveat that I must continue to learn to embrace the chaos, such as: day before last, a squirrel rode a fallen tree limb from the top of a tree to the driveway and, though stunned, walked it off.