Letters to Euturpe: 11

Another Thursday, another long weekend looming over yonder horizon. I’m slightly disappointed that I don’t get to work that day, but also very pleased that it’s an extra day to get writing done and maybe even watch a movie for once. Sometimes I think I should be budgeting my time like I do with money; every payday I’m scribbling out a map of what goes where. It’s not much fun, but I’m good at sticking to it.

I actually can think of at least five ways to get the most out of the day. I wonder if there’s such a thing as a 10-minute workout. Things to Consider. Adulting is weird, I’m still not used to it. What I am used to, is ideas. All the ideas in the world. I probably brought 25 sticky-notes home with me plus four I scrawled on the bus, and one I conjured for Flash Fiction July. That’s how you know it’s desperate: I don’t like handwriting in a moving vehicle.

The past couple of days I’ve been searching for some allegro in my music; I listened to one slow lazy song and was bored. Skipped through for some rock, something that’ll drown out the outside world. Don’t know why, but I’ve learned long ago: don’t question the little gray cells.

Anyway. Storytime.

From Cosistories, a dialogue between the sun and the moon.

And from Grace, a poem on how the night’s music shapes self.

Your challenge for the week is from Three Wishes, by The Pierces:

We’d be so less fragile if we were made from metal.

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