Two days behind

I still need to write my 100 days posts from yesterday and today.

Until I do that, I give you, from sigerson, this piece of brilliance: Garfield minus Garfield.

Take the old Garfield strips, and leave out Garfield. What's left? Jon Arbuckle, hopelessly lonely and insane.

[100 days of 100 words] 16/100

The lions are back.

I haven’t seen them in years. Their bright manes, their tawny coats. The subtle terror and the sudden teeth.

I must keep constant watch over the fences. Around me the careless are torn and eaten by the ravening ones, while I watch over the tame ones, the ones they tell me will not harm. Without witnessing, I see burst muscle and snapped bone.

But the fence ceases to hold. The raw meat of being human shows itself in screams. The one that comes for me is a white leopard, and all I have is a whip.

[100 days of 100 words] 17/100

It’s pathetic. Day seventeen and I’m thinking of giving this project up. Always some excuse or other: it’s getting too easy, or it’s getting too hard. What good are clever little 100-word bits, anyway? Sure it’s making me write, but it’s making me write 100 words a day. Which may be better than no words, but am I doing other writing?

It’s too short. It’s too long. I can’t think of anything profound today. Or funny. And why is it always about somebody dying? Will the shocking endings not eventually become a bore? And what’s with the meta-entries?

Fuck excuses.