You sit and watch, you type, but mostly you copy and paste. There is no joke, no fact, nothing but merely what it is. Yes? No? Well, yes. But, even so. You sit, and watch, watch something, but mostly something to drown out background nice—background noise, something watched before because it’s easier to skip beats you know are coming. Certainly, something light, or light enough to prevent too many distractions. The distractions are nevertheless always there, of course, but only because those are what allow the wondering mind to settle on something—anything—that isn’t reality. I said nice before, but I meant noice, or actually, noise. The problem is that... well, that’s for another time. Watch something in the background, pass the time until the next copy. Type something, press backspace, type it again, and don’t forget the semi-colon. Yes, the semi-colon. Next episode. Wait, sit, think, backspace again, you really didn’t want to do that.
Return, or enter, as many times as needed. Next paragraph. The problem is for another time, keep typing, my jaw hurts, should have done that. Yes, that. How many more to go? Should I indent? Depends on what’s above the paragraph. Oh, don’t forget to reply. Do it now, or later? Later is fine, just don’t forget, maybe make a not of it—or note of it—somewhere. Piece of paper? One with an adhesive on the back? No, just download an app. The rhyme was not intentional, but dream on as the lines in your face, well, that’s a problem for later. Just deal with it later.
New paragraph. Maybe I should change what’s above this line, make a note to figure out which looks better. If you want to emulate a book, you know what to do, but do you? Yes? No? Figure it out yourself. So the, no, wait, good plot, this one. App download is complete, but I wish I could say program download is complete. In any case, the good thing about this one is that it does the thing you want, namely—no, backgr—backgro—backspace—no, actually, which is that it takes notes. Except the UX is too confusing; (semi-colon) no, I don’t like that. It’s not really that it’s confusing (although that is the issue), but that it doesn’t do what you want, which—yes, which—is that it takes notes how you want it to take notes. Just close it. Just rep—yes, no, forget the paper, just reply.
Apologies in advance, or apolo—turn off auto-complete—apologies in... what’s the word... apologies right now. You’ve wasted your time, but I’ve wasted mine, too. We’ve wasted our time together, but I’ve wasted more of mine. There isn’t enough it, never is, never will be, no joke, no fact, so apologies to myself more than apologies to you. Note to self: now in the midpoint, don’t forget not to waste too much time putting it together. Just add the tags, fix that bug, tweak this element, but—well. What’s the problem again? New paragraph, by the way, remind self to check in edit, or better yet, just keep it like that and pretend it was intentional (in which case, the rhyme was intentional, remove that part, too). It’ll be forgotten; closed the app or program and didn’t make a note. And that will be the joke, this time with intention, pretension, or some other one. Should check the thesaurus for that, but it’ll waste more time, of which, as you know, there isn’t enough.
The problem is that it’s like a bucket with a hole in the bottom. A wooden bucket, held together by—with? Figure it out later—iron rings. Thick, flat iron rings, a pair of them, one on top and the other one wherever the designer deemed most optimal. Walk around a bit, get the blood flow going, or—how long is that thing you will be watching? Approximately, in minutes, or hours if you prefer, but I prefer minutes. The problem is that, well, or, the other problem is that the long ones—the movies, that is—are always limited in number, and you run out of them very quickly, but that’s your problem, not mine. (Remember to check that sentence in post. Note to self: you did.) But the original problem, although not the actual problem, is that the bucket has a hole in the bottom, so it’s always emptying, but there’s no time to plug the hole, so you just keep filling it with water. If the flow out of the hole is greater than... I don’t have time to explain that further, you already know. If you don’t, there are apps, or programs, but mostly apps for that.
Return, or enter, once or twice, but if it’s three times, you have a problem. Stay hydrated, drink coffee, or cappuccino—check that word in the edit—frankly, no, wait, let’s end the sentence here. Good. Frankly—see, new sentence, but the typography is ruined, so try again. Could have put that in paragraphs (paragraphs?), and I did, but bacgr—backspace agin—again and try again. Frankly... yes. Frankly, I prefer capicino (check that and these parentheses in post), but any coffee is fine, no pretensions, pretentions here, but mostly the former. No judging. Give me a minute. Eight-hundred and thirty-seven words, but that might depend on the algorithm, if the algorithm—auto-complete that—is indeed what it depends on, or on which it depends, never mind that this number will change once the edits come in, and they will. I do apologise. The structure will be fixed in post; I—semi-colon—will say something like, “Apologies in advance,” or perhaps something... better, or not, you can never know un—drink—well, something like that, maybe even exactly that, it will depend on various factors, such as appropriateness and flow, but mostly laziness. Later on, or soon, an excuse will need to be made for why what got done was this—thing—instead of that thing, this thing, or whatever the other thing was, all of those things that never got done, and that excuse won’t be this was the thing that needed to be the thing, that thing that needed to be done. There’s really nothing here. No joke. And don’t think that’s what I—backspace—the writer wants you, or, the reader, to think, which would, consequently, put the joke on you—backspace—the reader. No, no, not a joke. But. Too many mistaks [sic]. Needed to clarify that the mistake was intentional, lest the reader think otherwise (which is possible). Hydration is key. Wait.
Did one thing, but there are so many to do, including ones that matter more than other things, not that those will get done first, because that’s simply, and I do mean simply, because it’s being used here for emphasis, but back to what I was saying—that’s simply not how it works. The damned, broken bucket. Drink. Good movie; missed the ending. Should have paused. Or otherwise: next. I—or the writer—forgot to say, about apologising, in addition to that, well. (Period for emphasis; as you see, intent.) Text in parag—parentheses, to show it’s not to be written—actually, read—as part of the main body of text. Why know these things? Just copy and paste, it’s must—much—easier. Keeping the mistakes in is intentional, because it’s meant to prove a point, but that point is one for you to discover yourself. Keep reading to discover more.
You really shouldn’t have! You sit and watch, you read instead. You keep reading, because you keep waiting for the next copy, and you’re bored with this scene, so you read instead. No illusions here, let’s not pretend, the author or writer is speaking of themself, and the point of that (italics) is to show that they’re keenly or not too keenly, depending, aware of their foibles, and want you to know that they know, so that you can think a particular thought. It’s all very intentional. Unless they don’t care, in which case, you’ve wasted your time, which, again, is the point. But going back—let’s go back, let me read back—yes, going back to the point, and do be aware now that the use of point was not intentional, and not used for emphasis through repetition. Anyway, the point about apologising, I might not do that, because then it might change something about flow or pre-intension—tion. (Read that part allowed, yes, you.) Remember that reference, no, me.
I’ve lost the problem. But it’ll come back to me, as it’s never far away. Not all of the mistakes are being fixed. Do note that the vagueries (check in post) are intended and on purpose, and it’s all about management of the identity and brand, wherein overexposure calls for emphathy (empathy) and underexposure provokes a sense of mysteriousness, when in reality the author (in that case or this, not this one, one meaning this author, be assured, and neither that nor this is a lie) is hiding behind their inability to be honest. Mysteriousness is cool, it really is, and besides, why be honest when you’ve tried it before? At some point, you need to stop typing. The honesty is about the self, by the way. I should edit that and make it more clear, but I won’t. The honesty is about the self, about revealing fragility. Nevertheless, even so, furthermore, and no, there is no desire to make a point there, not all of the mistakes are being fixed, and, in fact, one can’t be fixed, but I already apologised for it—not to you, but you—because my intentions were good, albeit misguided.
Has the author written too much? Run out of steam? One tangent too many? Yes? No? You’ve written too much, you’ve run out of steam, you’ve unintentionally annoyed the reader by wasting their time, which is what they wanted, in the first place. You should have replied to that thing, instead, or at least made a note to do it. Just forget it. Bonk the keyboard on the head. Close the tab; pour the drink. Train metaphor. Do something else. Two sentences too many, to many but not a few.
Final paragraph; make point. There are too many things to do, some more important than others, which both of us know, but knowing doesn’t change that there are still too many of them. I don’t want to remind you, or me, of that, but I suppose that was inevitable, irrespective of intention. The bucket, made of wood. Perhaps the problem, but not the point, is not that it has a hole, but that the hole isn’t letting water out fast enough. Or, perhaps the problem is that it doesn’t work as a metaphor. Let’s just get off thes—this train together, and leave that for another edit. Time has sufficiently been squandered, both mine and yours. Before I forget, about apologising, I will, before I forget, apologise, now, after the fact, while there is no need for backgro—spa—backspace—I’ll always make that mistake. I really do apologise. Now, after the fact. I decided, in the end, not to go back and apologise in advance, as it would have changed my original intention. In the first paragraph, I mean.