Listening to: David Bowie, Low
RE: My previous post, the ill-fated contest entry that won't go anywhere. The dearth of posts here has been due to that fiasco, by and large. That and trying to fulfill my short fiction regime. I did have a post I was writing on Saturday night but ended up trashing most it. Really, my energy was devoted to composing the severely verbose post you see below.
I haven't even had much time to read my friends.
Grrrrrrrrr... on top of everything else, I'm looking at this blank template thinking, "What to write, what to write...." and it's infuriating, winding me up like a Dollar Store helicopter. I need some creative laxative; I need a damned vacation.
A few months back I took a weekend alone up in the mountains at a time share. No internet or TV, no cell phone, no contact with the world, just me and a good novel and my composition books, a little wine (a little too much wine one night but what the hell, I was alone...) and a couple of cigars to smoke on a sunny outcropping of stone. It was my escape from the madness of the election and the madness I found myself slipping into after taking full custody of my kids. For two days, I got to breathe.
I'm learning to breathe on a daily basis but sometimes, the air up here is rather thin, altitude and attitude rarifying everything to a thin powder. Guess there's no choice but to chop some up, give it a toot, have another hit of sweet air.