Delayed by a lot, here’s the third installment in the Writing Room series.
Since I have no way of knowing the time, I have no way of knowing how long I slept. It felt like I’ve been laying in bed for real long. Sleeping, on the other hand, hasn’t happened all that much I think.
The bed was squeaky and uncomfortable. The pillow didn’t give much support to my head, and the sheets weren’t thick enough to keep me comfortably warm. It’s stuff like this that I think is most likely to make me regret this whole thing. In fact, I already do. But I’m at the point of no return, way past it even, so it can’t be helped. I’ll just have to plow through. Something good’s bound to happen, right?
On a related note, remember how I said yesterday that this wasn’t a diary? It still isn’t, but it’s coming dangerously close to being just that. I’ll see if I can give my thoughts some freedom of flow today, so that I may come up with a great idea.
Not that large a part, but the next one may or may not make up for it, depending on what you like.