The convergence of random variables

Back… Almost. And it’s not because I’m still over there. I’m somewhere in between, somewhere I’ve been that is pulling me in, still. Wrote for days on end. Nothing that I would put here nor there, but wrote nonetheless, as if to prove. As if to remember the sleepless nights when I could not even help it, could not contain it. For now all I can do is dig, reach, pull and hope that what appears on the page holds some kind of meaning. And yet, commandeering any and all of my intents is the need to express, to convey, to tell. How is the answer, if there was a question.

I had this great big thought while in Sauve. Thoughts I should say. I will write. But I need my own space. So I just got a desk and a chair from the classifieds and I’m turning my room around tomorrow. This will be, quite literally (yes, I’ve read the book, and yes, I know it’s not only about the title), a room of my own.

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