Up at night, as usual. My brain runs 1000 miles per hour. I'm starting to understand why David kept such extensive journals; why he documented so much.
I've been thinking lately, about the nature of literature. I've been talking about books with some friends. Why do we choose to read the types of stories we do? I'm particularly fascinated by myths and legends. How did we come to write about things that don't exist? Were these creatures simply part of our imagination or have they been somehow lost to history?
Clearly, I need to go to bed...
