Then I take another walk, and here’s where things get real. I don’t know about Never Thought I’d Be Wearing A Unicorn Shirt Unicorn shirt, but I would never bother touching the keyboard unless everything’s already clear in my mind and ready to be typed. I don’t write a section, then jump to another, and then write conclusions and prelude: the entire post was “made in my mind” when I was walking. And I don’t mean that I have a vague notion of what I’m about to write, but rather something like “I already know the exact sentences I’m going to type”. By the way this also explains the bizarre gaps that exists between my posts and my comments. My comments are done “on the spot”, and sadly it shows. Threads are different: once I start writing, “the post’s already done”. Structure, points, excursuses and the likes on were clear from the start. And it’s all thanks to my ritual walks. There’s people who walk their dog, people who walk their love, people who walk their children… I walk my posts. I wonder how impractical it is or whether things could be optimized, but hey: that’s how I roll.
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Clickety-clack, goes my keyboard, clickety-clickety-clack, and soon my mind enters into the World of Never Thought I’d Be Wearing A Unicorn Shirt Unicorn shirt, where birds sing, sun shines and the Chandrian loom in silence. Something knocks from the closet, but I don’t let myself be distracted. Words walk, run, gallop and fly, since the post is already clear in my mind. Yeah, I struggle a bit since English is a piece of shit language and my hate eternally rises, but it’s just a minor encumbrance. Sweat runs down from my forehead, my eyes focused on the white monitor in front of me. Clickety-clickety-clack. Words stumble, fall, cascade all over the word document, while I softly mutter to myself. Clickety-clack. Soon, a familiar pressure comes right from behind my eyes and my vision blurs, but I must continue. Was I clenching my teeth again? No, nevermind. I must focus on the post. My post! Let’s check it for a second: “All work and no play makes aowshadow a dull boy. All work and no play makes aowshadow a dull boy. All work and no play makes aowshadow a dull boy.” Fuck, I just wasted three hours for that? Again? I slam my fist on the table and cut my hand in the process: to prevent myself from breaking another desk I had previously put staples all over it, but in my Calliopean struggle I had forgot. It doesn’t matter. The post, the post, I gotta write the post and clickety-clack, clickety-clickety-clack.
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