Something strange is happening right now.

I had every intention of logging a new entry today, something profound and life altering (of course), but instead spent half my daylight hours sprawled out on the floor recovering from an intoxicating night out. Needless to say, I was hardly in any condition to obtain anything useful from, well… uh, my own condition (that of being an artist). And yet, feeling oddly compelled, here I am anyway… writing about my intention to write.

Hmmm. Does this count?