This is me, journaling for five minutes

Journaling about what, I don't know. Just, typing. Trying to get my fingers used to going again, trying to get my brain used to writing non-stop for at least five minutes. I don't know what I'm going to say -- if anything. It's really just exercise. Holy fuckballs, I hate this desk. Who designed this damn thing? And why the hell did they design it so you can't put your legs under it? Well, I mean, I guess they did. And I think it was designed for people who were a) using it as a writing desk and b) didn't manspread. I manspread. When you have thick thighs, you kind of have to. Anyway, god, I hope I don't complain the whole time I'm doing this. I just have two more minutes to go. That's it. Just two more minutes. This is me, not watching the clock. I bet once the tiner goes off, I'll have found something interesting to talk about. That's the way it usually goes. It's like when you decide to take a 15 minute nap, and you fall asleep around minute 11. Yup. There it is. Doing this again tomorrow -- but maybe not at this desk. Yeesh.