Dear Twitter,
Why would I want to know what you are thinking every fifty-nine seconds? (No offense.)
Dear god, I wish I didn’t have to know what I am thinking every fifty-nine seconds. (Actually much more often than that. Unless it’s after eleven o’clock at night, at which point I slow waaaay down. Or every now and then speed way up, but that’s usually considered a worry-spiral and it goes downhill fast towards just sounds, rather than fully developed thoughts, soooo.)
That’s all.
Love hugs and kisses,
MM
PS– The word limit thing is no longer a thing if you post every secondandahalf. The point is to practice being concise, to exercise your poetic intent of fitting an incredible amount of information in a small amount of space…
PPS– Sorry. I really like short-word exercises and over-use of Twitter is ruining everything.
PPPS– Please don’t hold it against me when I inevitably join the craze.
PPPPS– Post your six-word memoirs below! And you cannot do more than one. Ha.
