The thing about sock writing is that you're not supposed to think too much about it, you just let the words come out in one big long stream and if it's a stream of nonsense it's just as well. So I started trying to do sock writing but was getting too hung up on trying to make it sound good and I realized that was missing the whole point, so I just deleted a whole paragraph and have ended up with this and so far I've not stopped typing to check if it looks good. There. That's what I was hoping for and now to give you a whole lot of nothing in particular because this is a nothing kind of task to dump whatever out and hope to find some sparkling idea in the midst of it. Except my brain just paused for a few seconds and the idea is I'm not supposed to pause, but whatever. I would like to tell you that I have managed to kill my chicken. It was twitching for a while after I killed it and then three or four more chickens appeared and I was trying to scare them away with my broom. I was successful at that, actually, but then they came back again a few times. This is what happens when I'm left hanging. The chickens multiply. It's fine, though. Right now I have zero chickens. Okay, maybe one. Not the one I started with, but a new one. It's hard to kill because it looks friendly. Oh, what the hey, I'll just keep it. I don't like killing animals anyway. That's cruel. It took me fifteen minutes to put my socks on this morning because I was doing it in front of the fireplace and it was warm and it felt good and also I was daydreaming. My imagination has been nuts lately, coming up with snatches of conversation and fantasies and dreams of going to faraway places. It's good when I can reign it in a bit and, you know, live in reality where the red rabbits go. I'm pausing again. I'm not supposed to pause when I do sock writing. I'm putting myself in a time-out right now for messing up my sock writing. That's ridiculous. I think I have problems. I'm going to do something in reality tomorrow. I'm going adventuring.