I’m typing in an amusingly rubbish, tippy-tappy, drunken one letter at a time bout of terribleness. Being ridiculed by my wife, in an “I must check every letter on the screen” kinda way.
But I must make my One A Day. I have never before been this close to failure. However, there is no way that I will ever quit. Even now, as I wilt under the pressure of tired drunken Hasselhoff-tastic excitement, I refuse to bow to the inevitable. And as I once again gain sobriety, the world will right itself in solidarity. Tomorrow night, I will rise again. This time, with no typos. Maybe.
Minor transgressions forgotten. The world as it should be. Everything’ll be fine. And hopefully edited hugely.