I'm
disheartened today, unable to write because of lack of sleep. A curtain
hangs between my creative self and the words on the page. Nothing means
anything. The characters are dead, the plot lacks liveliness and
meaningful action. Up a zillion times last night to pee so I'm pulling
up stakes at this here Starbucks and heading home in this soon to be 105
degree day to where the curtains are pulled and the darkness of despair
awaits this silent beatnik boomer. Actually, I'm going to turn up our
window air conditioning and pig out on Curb Your Enthusiasm. "If one can't create himself let him watch something creative," I always say.
THEN what happens! The airconditioning comes on strong in this Starbucks, and I get a second wind as I realize it's allergies that haveme down. Now I'm joyous. I'll stick around and work some more.
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