Why do I think in strange paragraphs? Where did this evolve from? Is it from too many years of writing blog entries? Paragraphs aren't paragraphs separated by a single carriage return and an indented first time with the tab key. Paragraphs are neat and tidy rectangles. Evenly spaced. Like bits of information in the binary of my mind. Zhoul is not in her chair. She is not sleeping. I am not sleeping. But Brad is. He is beautiful and calm when he is sleeping. I am not beautiful and calm when I am sleeping, and it's a shame really, because sleep should be the one place where a girl can feel safe.

I have written a page without double-spacing. I am impressed. I don't think I have achieved this yet. But I don't want to stop. I had nothing else to say about Charlotte, but I felt like typing. Like I wanted to keep typing. I love the clickity click sound of the keys. I type quickly, and I love the way my fingers look dancing and hovering over the keyboard. I can close my eyes and still type perfectly. I wrote that last sentence with my eyes closed. Typing is the one place where I am graceful. My fingers know exactly where to go, They have been trained and strengthened like a dancer. My fingers are long and lean from playing the flute instead of the saxophone. The only time I make a mistake if when I forget how to spell certain words, or when I forget certain letters. Sometimes my fingers are faster than my actual brain. Isn't it lovely how I can think of a word and instantly see it in my mind, spell it and type it and it appears on the screen? I am a magician. I'm better than a magician, because magicians are all about trickery. Slight of hand. But my typing is not like slight of hand at all. My typing is magical, like real magic. Like wizards and elves and shoemakers.

Labels: writing

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