like a nun on a ding dong

that is just a bit too long

Discipline is difficult.

Though I have the discipline to create, my urge to edit is akin to a Nun’s desires for a long dong dicking.

I’ve had a prolific problem for quite some time.

My files and folders?

So thick and large, most AI assistants choke on them like a nun at a bachelorette party.

So today, I’ve been breaking 2k+ pages of my writing into bite-sized chunks—feeding them to a search tool that won’t steal my words to train some soulless LLM.

Dear reader, I used to show up at my accountants with boxes of pocket crumpled receipts and have him sort through three years worth of taxes. It was fugly.

Now?

Well, now I know how that motherfucker felt when he saw me coming.

I’ve been sitting on my arse for so long today my hemi’s have grown their own piles.

Is it worth it?

Dunno.

But right meow?

I envy those who are capable of being organized.

Then again, organized people probably don’t have 2k pages of poop jokes and existential dread to sort through.

Fuck those guys.

I’m calling the extra girth a win for creativity.