I was working on the Evil Studies story earlier, but now I’ve lost the energy necessary to continue. I drank my coffee, which usually fuels these two hours of productivity (that’s about all I can manage most days, what with work and video games and generally sitting around not doing much), but, today, for reasons I don’t have the energy to analyze, it’s not working. It’s either it that’s not working, or maybe the story that isn’t working. I’m not sure which.
I didn’t do any writing yesterday because I had tons of work to do at work, and when I drove home, firm in my resolve not to play video games, Doolies tempted me, and I succumbed in a most horrendous fashion. I will not play tonight, but I do envision myself sitting in front of my huge television screen and watching a movie that I’m sure the little blue man has already delivered to my mailbox. (I’m not sure if he (or she, for that matter) is little—I’ve never actually seen the kobold that delivers my Netflix envelopes, one of the few pieces of mail that is of any value to my daily life.)
I planned to resist wasting another paragraph describing the weather in Seattle, but, as you will see, I failed at that as well. Suffice to say (since I know everyone is as interested in hearing about it as I am in wasting words to describe it) it is beautiful, yet again. At the end of the winter, the word about town was that because of the wonderful (i.e., dry and moderately warm) winter, the mountains hadn’t collected enough snow fall, and because of it, there may be a drought in the summer. The thought amazed me since I live less than a quarter of a mile from a large lake with, what I assume, is huge amounts of fresh water. Over the past couple of months, as winter gave way to spring which gave way to summer, there was much rain. Over the last couple of weeks, before these past few days of respite, I kept asking everyone, “Where’s this drought I was promised?” It seems we missed out on the drought and we now don’t have much to look forward to.
I’m babbling now. I’m going to take another break to let my brain catch up with the caffeine and my thoughts, and try to do more writing when I get home. I ate a late afternoon snack, thinking that it would help me push my writing through the evening hours before I ate dinner. Clearly that has not happened. I guess you can’t force genius, or, in my situation, poorly hidden hacks.
Doolies is off delivering babies, and I managed to peel myself away from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” (a surprisingly good movie, if a bit harsh on the Asian stereotype with the neighbor upstairs played by Mickey Rourke). I took a long walk to fetch dinner at the small café at the end of my avenue, and assailed my senses with a delicious amber beer. I was at a Gotcha moment in the movie, and I felt this was a good time to avoid the embarrassing moment and do something else with the evening. After turning on my gaming computer, I resisted loading up WoW (Doolies would be angry with her off catching babies and me keeling people), and decided to come out on the porch and see if I had anything left in me to write. I should note that on the way back from the café, I stopped at the grocery store and bought chocolate, which I’ve begun to munch away on, giving me this instantaneous, if alcohol-tinted energy.
That chocolate is certainly tasty.
Yeah, it’s not happening. I thought about thinking about writing, but I decided that in my current state I couldn’t do much more than put words down that are already spinning through my brain. Man, I wish writing stories was as easy as translating the ridiculous thoughts that go through my head onto the page. Writing would be fun and rewarding and awfully sparkly if it were. But there’s only awfulness and spinning clouds and trees in these necks (of the woods, of course).
Enough senseless babbling. I’ll post this and get back to Tiffany’s to see what happens at the end.