The Obscure

Well, I have purchased a new sketchbook and sullied it with my mind and my ink for hours on end. Now it is time to exercise my fictional writing muscle, which has grown so atrophied that I am now beginning to doubt if it is even developed enough to perform the most rudimentary of jabbing motions. The time it took me to compose that god-awful sentence is proof enough that my doubts were quite reasonable. As was the phrasing of that following sentence.
I am tiring fast of this, it is not as fun as picking up the habit of constant sketching again, but it is equally as important, in my mind. Perhaps before I go on I should explain myself.
I was utterly useless for about two or three months, right? An utter slug, I didn't do anything except work and sleep. I stopped drawing and writing pretty much at all for this whole duration, although I still would have occasional blog updates, all the writing I do outside of my blog ceased, and my sketching--Pfft! Fuhgettabowdit!
Anyway, a couple of days ago I got really upset about it and started trying to get back in the habit of being semi-intelligent. It's fun to be semi-intelligent, it helps you score with the ladies.
A semi-intelligent cookie boy dropout. Feh.

Anyway, I have to go drive Lena to Maria's house, or something. More on this later.