I bought a new deodorant today, and every time I move, I keep wondering what that smell is. It’s like I’m being followed by a very quiet, flowery girl. I keep thinking that I’ll turn around and see her standing behind my bookcases laughing at me.
This is even worse than the times I change glasses and freak out whenever I pass by a mirror.
Sent off another story yesterday, and just as quickly got another idea for a new one. I’m starting to think that the strange paranoia I have about never having another writing idea only comes about when I’m being my most lethargic. Work begets more work, stasis begets paranoia. Neither are really all that comforting when I really think about it.
Whateves, at least the work is fun.