I made a promise to myself that I would write every week. After all, it is the least that I could do for myself. You see, I love writing. However, I tend to put everything and everybody from classwork to housework, ahead of myself, so there is no time left for me. So tonight, as I sit here pounding out a quickie just to satisfy my goal, I ponder the usefulness in this act. This writing falls way short of my normal pages long cathartic pieces that also double as euphoric endorphin releasers. Instead, I race the clock and hammer out perfunctory pieces that waste my time as well as that of other SOL readers. I said I would be ready this week, yet, as the clock nears 10:50 pm, I sit here once again, tip tapping away. I suppose, the flip side to not writing with depth is that I am writing, though I must admit, I feel like Cinderella coming out for just one dance at the ball before the clock strikes twelve leaving you with this glass slipper.
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Not a waste. A commitment met. A connection made. I feel your Cinderella moment. Had my own a few hours ago.
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