Alliterations from Hell April 30, 2002 - 5:46 p.m.

Deep Amethyst fingernails clumsily trying to find their way across the keyboard. This is all they can seem to find today.

"The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog."

I want to write something worthwhile. Something full of meaning and passion. And when someone reads it, they'll completely identify and say 'Hey, I know exactly what that's like', 'I've been there', or whatever it is that people say when they identify with something.

I want the words to just flow from my hand like they used to. As though a pen snapped in half and all the ink spilled out to create these wonderful words, phrases, sentences, all loaded with colorful and intriguing depth. Already adorned with perfect punctuation, supreme spelling, and a rewarding revision. I want writing, whether it be this journal or a story with twisting plots, to become the addiction that it once was for me. An addiction free of dangerous substances and/or wasted money. A nice healthy addiction would be perfect for me to escape all the nonsense throwing a party in my head. An addiction that not only allows an escape, but serves a purpose as well. How often can you find what most people would classify as an 'addiction', useful?

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