I stopped to look at the update dates on sprained-soul.com and I see that I haven't been writing as regularly as I should be. 3 months for a shitty half-ass story? I can't respect myself for that. It is time that I start writing regularly again and allow myself to dredge shitty things within myself, to talk about things that are important, not just seem important and perhaps a bit more fucked up then people would expect (like 'slitting someone's stomach open and fucking the hole' is not fucked up enough?).

I am going to try a schedule of *at least* one story per month, and if I can slip into that grove easily enough (and more awesomely depressing and traumatic things keep happening) I will switch to one every two or three weeks, though I will have to battle to draw out the usual inspiration that seems to push my peices forward.

And just so no one, including myself, is taking me too serious, I'll say something embarrasing. Yesterday I was grating cheese and I'm so un-coordinated and oblivious that I took two grater hole sized chunks out of one of my knuckles. This in itself is not too stupid, but I wasn't paying attention and didn't really feel it, so I looked into the little plastic dish that caught all the cheese and it's filled with blood. I had to throw all the cheese out and start over. That's still not the bad part. The bad part is, had I not been cooking for someone else, I probably would have eaten it.

Thank you, goodnight.