Thursday, August 2, 2012

While Away the Hours

It's surprisingly hard to kill time 8 hours a day, 5 days a week.  It's mostly made up of  reading, with two cups of Yahtze, a tablespoon of WWF and a dash of Angry Birds.  (This game is extremely frustrating to me, mostly because I'm sure there's a bevy of 10-year-olds out there who can kick my ass at it.)  But around 2:00-ish, that recipe loses its flavor and I spend a lot of time staring blankly at the Harbert Center with random song lyrics and snatches of play/movie dialogue running through my head.  "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.  ."; " Any fool can play this game, Mr. Kirby."'; "Coffey, John Coffey.  Like the drink, only not spelled the same"; etc., etc.)  So I'm pretty much a Blathering Idiot by 5:00.  (As opposed to the Composed Idiot I am at 8:00 a.m.) 

Towards the end of the day, I start to make up song lyrics.  My current one (to the tune of the BeeGees "You Should Be Dancing"):  Whatcha doing at your desk?  Whatcha doing at your desk?  You should be writing, yeah!  Writing, Yeah!

Yes, I know.  And I have every intention of doing so.  One day.  My dear friend Jen and I have talked about this a lot and she said I should just write *something* every day, it doesn't matter what it is.  Lately everything's coming up bloggish ("for me and for you!" or is it "for you and for me"?  Please advise.), which is fun, though not that productive.  But, it is a start and in the words of Daniel Martin's Hungry Hungry Hippo who eats rice cakes, "Good for me!"

I keep thinking that one day, out of the blue, the Our Lady of Literature will descend into our lobby and say, "Hey, Gump, why don't you write "___________________"? 
Me:  "Awesome idea!  Thanks, OLOL!"
OLOL:  "No problem.  Peace Out.  Cute kittens, BTW."

What that really is, of course, is a half-assed excuse for not writing.  I gotta  million of  'em.

Maybe I should write a book of half-assed excuses?  (Insert political joke here.)  Yeah, that's a good idea.  I'll start doing that.  In a minute.  But first, "Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a good wife you would be..."

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