It's late but I'm not asleep.

I was going to write one of my rather typical posts here in which I talked about frustration, lack of motivation, stagnation, laziness, neurosis, caffeine dependency, and how little I have accomplished since last I blogged.  I began to wax poetic while mentally composing this parvum opus, and then I said to my self (self, I said):  if you have the energy and creativity to work on that, why not actually write something instead?

Yeah, I really do talk to myself while egregiously overusing italics to emphasize things.

Anyway, here goes.

Not too shabby.

Three hundred and three words later upon A Stain Upon His Hands, it's bedtime.