I press the ‘recount’ button so often you’d think I was anxious to get it over with. It isn’t as if I am ever going to reach a certain number of words and think, ‘there, I’m done with this writing jape now.’ I like the idea though. I’d lean back in my chair, loosen my belt like I’d had a big meal and sigh the kind of sigh that has probably only been sighed once or twice in the history of sighs. Now I’ve imagined the scene, I’m almost looking forward to it.
I keep a diary too, almost every day since I was thirteen. 1996 – a day in March when it was snowing and I was in a bad mood because everyone thought I should be at school and I was certain it was a bad idea. My life is eight-seven notebooks, the paper streaming out behind me. I like finishing a notebook, timing a sentence so I finish on the last inch of the last line of the last page.
One of my friends keeps a diary too and we decided it was more than possible we only actually did things in order to write them down.