writing

you know, the thing with inspiration for writing is, it either comes or goes, it rarely ever stays.
its like a fever, i honestly feel as if its going to be the death of me. i feel gripped by a strange melancholic madness that refuses to subside until ive poured out whatever i can pour out with my worn out fingers. my problem has always been my mind works faster than my comprehension or my limbs. i cant keep up. like i said, i think it’ll be the death of me.
wouldnt that be ironic.
my eulogy.
journalist/writer/poet dies at age 97 from overuse of eyes, hand, mouth and cerebellum. irreparable damage was caused to her finger ligaments (particularly both the forefingers used to type) and her brain, well post morten analysis showed severe depressions in her right hemisphere from over use of memory and creativity and underuse of logic faculties.
she will be missed by thousands of members of her family and as well as her schoolmates at the convent who made a fan club in her name. she is survived by thousands of members of her family, 4 children , 2 dogs and 1 cat.