Sometimes, I am a bad friend. I am habitually late for everything, which does not indicate a great level of commitment to the people left waiting for me. It makes me unreliable. Truthfully, I think I am angrier about my tardiness than they are.
I procrastinate a lot. Right now, I am typing away at a blog entry instead of changing the coffee pot. I should take care of that. I will be right back.
...
Back. Steam fogged my glasses as I poured aromatic, stale coffee down the sink that does not drain very fast. In the background, I can hear the commercial grade coffee machine squealing like the sound used in the Prometheus trailer (that trailer, while awesome, gives away too many plot details).
Where was I? Bad friend. Procrastinate. Oh yes.
When I learned of a close friend's blog, I was excited to read it. I bookmarked it. I bookmarked it again on my phone. And then I did not read it.
Only tonight, in the doldrums between the duties of the lowly night auditor, have I finally read it. And it is quite good. That was to be expected, but it's so good, I now have an extra bit of anxiety to feel next time I am brave enough to share some of my writing. Sharing a piece with someone who does not write is much easier, as they often will not know the craft well enough to recognize what a failure of a composition they are looking at.
Here is the blog, by the way.
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