It’s 9:00, and this story I’ve been working on still isn’t finished.

It’s 9:00, and I’m worried about the word count – maybe I should worry about going to bed…

It’s 9:02, and I’m still thinking about this story. I should take a break; I’ve put a lot into it today and I don’t want to overthink, overstress, and overwrite.

It’s 9:03, and I’m trying to think of a better word than “overwrite.” Is there such a thing? I suppose there’s not.

It’s 9:04, and I’m going to give my brain a break.

It’s 9:04, and I have an angelic voice next to me saying random words trying (and succeeding) to make me laugh.

It’s 9:05, and I’m still laughing.

It’s 9:06 and I’m thinking about how fast these seconds and minutes seem to be passing.

It’s 9:06 – ha, got another one in for this minute.

It’s 9:07, and I’m thinking about Mrs. Dalloway in the next room.

It’s 9:08, and I hope that there are still readers left.

It’s 9:08, and I mean not just of this post or of Virginia Woolf, but books: nighttime, daytime, all the time readers.

It’s 9:09, and I’m amazed at how fluid my thoughts are after a satisfying/fulfilling writing session.

It’s 9:09, and I’m amazed at how vivid and imaginative my dreams are when I fall asleep in a good book.

It’s 9:10 – ten minutes have passed. Ten whole minutes. It felt like two to me.

It’s 9:10, time for bed.

It’s still 9:10 – there’s always time to be creative; it’s much more fun to pass time that way.

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