it's 10:28 a.m. on a sunday and i'm drinking shitty instant coffee. why'd i have to choose the shitty instant coffee. i guess because i wanted to save the non-shitty instant coffee for a day when i felt like i deserved something better. i'm on the deck drinking the coffee. it's not as hot as it was yesterday, the coffee or the weather. xxxx i have ten years of battling a disability but i don't want to write about it. why don't i want to write about it? because tragedy is painful and when you're not out of the woods why do you want to talk about the woods? but i have to write about something; that's what writers do. they find something in their lives and then bash away on the fucking keyboard until it makes sense. but who am i trying to make it make sense for? xxxx i bought kerouac's on the road a few weeks back, but the original scroll edition. the original scroll edition is one long paragraph front to back and oh my god is it impossible to read. or is it just me? do people like the idea of one long line of thought? kerouac wrote on the road on a typeriter using a single roll of paper. i'm not trying to be kerouac; i just like his mechanics. except for all the barbiturates he took. also i'm never going to be able to read my writing on the steve allen show and that bums me out.