In writing all that is above I began to succeed in falling into rhythm, and subsequently a sense of not caring for the time but for the words needing to get out... then from of the corner of my eye saw that it was 7:29 and could not coerce myself to keep from checking again and again until the minute rolled over in it's non-corporal grave. It is now 7:32. I do at this moment desire to keep going. But feel as though I was merely rambling anyways. What if I stopped at 13 minutes in due to a combination of a lack in substance and a fulfillment of my time allotment that I committed myself to... but, had I held out one, two, ten minutes longer, would have received divine inspiration. That proverbial "second wind" that in this scenario would technically only be the first... but the point is that, I have this overwhelming anxiety that I will miss it. Or pass it up intentionally. Potentially more than once. Hell it's likely I would do it over and over and over again. I am truly scared of my own propensity to put off my own destiny. Squander all that has been, and will be given to me... and this fear is often the cause of my nonsensical typing about typing. Writing about writing. Because at any moment that can be easily changed... but knowing myself, if I commit to ten minutes of writing on a decidedly unworthy topic, I may be unable to stray from it as a result of my own stubbornness, should the right moment, mood or message come along.