How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard? When wilt thou arise out of thy sleep?
How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard? When wilt thou arise out of thy sleep?
Saturday. The day of rest.
And as usual, the tasks that I ignored all week suddenly get first billing in my head today. I need to get the algae out of the bird bath, water the sweet ‘tater vines and mow the west side. But I’ll sit on my hands. Actually, now that I think of it, writing is also proscribed by the Rabbi’s. Oh hell.
Last night was a sleepless night. They happen once in a while, and when they do, I might as well get up and go putter. So I did. And ate half a bag of Cheetos, drank a can of Squirt, nuked a couple of beef dogs dipped in mustard, forked down a couple of spoonfuls of sauerkraut, and downed half a bowl of grapes.
And I wonder why my digestion isn’t so good.
I ditched services today. Snookums called me in time to shower and go, but I just pulled the blanket over my head while she got ready to go. I could feel the disapproval through the blankets, but I persevered until the silence of her absence woke me. So I sit here in my studio, the heat of the dog days glaring at me from the window. It is 100° and still more to come.
I have started these off and on daily journals to jumpstart the old Muse, but I think I have really horked her off with the last go around we had. It was a false start. One feverish flurry of production, followed by ennui and sloth. So she is giving me the old silent treatment, but like Snookums, I can {{{ feel }}} her disapproval.
And the wars on Blogster® continue … it is easy for me to sit outside in smug self-righteousness when it isn’t me doing the bashing. “Oh you silly kids!” I think. When I am involved, it become very
important that I answer every insult. In detail. Carefully thought out and edited for maximum impact.
I wish I could focus that same energy into completing any of the various manuscripts that I have laying about.
But alas … today is a day of rest, so I can’t pick those up either.
Good afternoon!
~r