A Few Notes on My Shitty Handwriting

A note scrawled to myself with increasing frequency in the pages of innocent notebooks: “Slow down; you DO want to use these notes, don’t you?”

Yes, actually, I do. 

But alas, my handwriting is shit, a horrific mutant born (perhaps) of a manic cross-purpose thought exorcism and of my past life spent writing music, of drawing symbols to be translated into song and transferring that propensity for drawing instead of writing to words that read – hours, minutes later – as though uttered by a drunken lout.

Considering teaching myself to write right-handed from a kindergarten writing book; given the state of my thought-exorcism, speed-freak southpawness, it wouldn’t make much of a difference to start from scratch… 

… or, you know, I could just slow down. Whatever works.

P.S. Update: It’s 20 March and my head hasn’t exploded… yet.

Listening: TRUST IN THE LIFEFORCE OF THE DEEP MYSTERY, by The Comet is Coming. (Spectacular.)