Someone is at the door downstairs and I really can’t find the energy to walk there and see what that’s about. I push a section of my hair behind my ear in the hopes that the current inspiration I’m feeling won’t fade quickly, but will linger for just a little longer, perhaps until the end of Greenberg.  Since starting to write for NOVA magazine, I’ve become increasingly aware of the AP style of writing and how far I stray from it in my day-to-day writing. Differ I do and I am dysfunctionally proud of that fact. Word is telling me that “dysfunctionally” is not a word. And apparently there’s a wrong subject-verb agreement in that phrase as well. I disagree—with the former count. The differing continues and I declare myself a language rebel.

I’m hungry on the brink of starving. I crave strong flavors, powerful flavors, flavors that my taste buds have mostly been acquainted with this past year– red onion, hot sauce, pepperoncini, jalapeños, kalamata olives. I need something featuring these flavor profiles right now. The movie’s over and Ben Stiller’s very specific character appeases me in my most specific moments. These are the kinds of movies I should be watching in this post-Sunday outing hangover haze. Perhaps this means that I find myself more susceptible to inspiration. On the note that the film is now over and has been for almost 35 minutes, I will end these thoughts here because I’ve surpassed the brink and am now officially starving.