Writing...

I had an almost solid three-hour block of writing time today.

Writing time? You ask.

Yes. Writing time, I reply.

Amongst my strange, widely varying dreams of last night (one of which involved physics homework), I dreamed of a brightly lit room filled with colorful, floating plastic balls.

I've got eight scrawling handwritten pages on it, and it feels like a slow burn. Whether or not this thing goes anywhere is again another fairly large question mark, though I have wrangled the first coherent piece of exposition from my writing brain in a while.

I'm inordinately proud of writing coherent things.

I already call this a win.