I had four teeth extracted recently. My head feels lighter, though that may just be my imagination. Making up for the physical extraction with mental insertion.

Still telling myself to write more, still not listening. How does one self-motivate? On the surface something appeals to the senses but peek just below and how repugnant it suddenly is, like an underground phosphorus pool. All glittering and twinkling to the eye but the other senses cringe and twist and reject utterly the experience on account of the smell. That’s it: I’ve got to acclimate myself to the smell of writing.

Last month of the year. Always sneaks up on me, even when I remember to mark the days off the calendar. Guess it’s time to get all my ducks in a row, tie up loose ends. Heck, maybe I’ll even put up some festive decorations.