sometimes I wish I wrote outlines or something

Ever get, like, 12000 words into a story and start rambling about dog weddings? Yeah, um, I don't know. Rarely, rarely do I have any idea where a story is going to go when I start writing it. Sometimes this is good, and sometimes this ends up with a boston terrier marrying a welsh corgi and although there is a tenuous thread attaching that to the main Spencer-had-a-mental-breakdown theme of this story, it really makes no sense. I kinda want to cut it out, except I'm amusing myself too much.

“He’s convinced it’s gonna be, like, the event of the year.”

“It’s a motherfucking dog wedding,” Spencer hissed, pressing his fingers to his temple, and oh my god, he really couldn’t believe these people were his friends. That once upon a time he spent a goodly portion of his year with them, day in and day out.