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The thought of a sentence with five hundred words seemed to her like a river that would overflow its banks and flood the plain and simple truth of the landscape that surrounded her mind’s ebb-and-flow of temporal reaity--if reality could be the word for what went coursing through her waking moments--and really, she longed for constraint and discipline like an out-of-control woman needing a good spanking; her own thoughts being difficult and unruly, childish in one moment, soaring and esoteric the next, or else given to a deep melancholy that threatened her tenuous grip on the fact that her life wasn’t going exactly as planned...she chided herself inwardly for that weak thought, then cursed that bad habit of self-criticism--still, the thrill of something bigger and stronger, a Rule, that would take all the roaring and rushing torrent of words and make them BEHAVE in a demure, desirable form of womanhood...well, that was a challenge that she’d have to take on, if only to delight in the steadfast firmness of something, anything, that would be unchanging, solid in her gypsy imagination; five hundred words seemed almost too easy if she just wanted to prattle on, but the constraint of one.single.sentence. was just another in a long series of dares she felt compelled to take on, as though working two jobs and writing a stupid blog (oh, she needed the writing outlet and would likely kill the child in its crib before long, but as it was, the care and feeding of the damn thing seemed just one more task she compulsively took on, knowing full well that when she invited that desire into her bed, she would loathe the child of such a union and fear it would grow into a miscreant aberration of embarrassing self-revelations about family dysfunction--or worse--devolve into a whiny teenager that was never going to decide on a career path or do anything to further itself) wasn’t enough for her insatiable appetite for creative output; no, she was determined to completely alienate any chance for something remotely normal even if it meant the indescribably lonely feeling one has when they realize their obsessions have taken them places they probably shouldn’t be, but were irresistible nonetheless...places where the ego wants to expand and vaunt itself to dizzying heights just because the fear of heights was so viscerally implanted in her psyche to a point of danger, and there it was: the reason she simply could not resist the temptation of the challenge of five hundred words in one sentence was the possibility of abject failure or abiding achievement as the result of disciplining the thousands of synapses into one cohesive (and hopefully, coherent) phrase of meaning; an accomplishment that she knew she would enjoy rewinding (now there’s a new anachronism!) and replaying in her stupid blog just as soon as she posted it here in this amazing forum, concluding the deed with a sigh of almost sultry satisfaction and lighting an imaginary cigarette.