It's cold tonight. No complaints. The Santa Anna winds are blowing their remnants in our Arizona direction reeking havoc on my backyard. I came home from a party I attended last night, this morning, to a patio furniture disaster. There was an umbrella in the pool and another one had risen from it's anchor, out of the hole it was housed in through the middle of a patio table onto the side yard ripped to shreds. The telescope cover is swimming and the pool resembles a murky pond with all the mud and leaves. I wonder how long it will take to return to blue. Just the latest in my string of amusing disasters. I've yet to talk about last week's bedroom fire............
Though my intentions were good, my Sunday fell flat for a second week in a row. I spent the day chasing a hangover cure having over indulged Saturday night. I don't think I regret it, as I had a good time.... well, maybe a little. Spent the majority of the day when not concocting hangover shooters, writing, hoping something would catch fire. A welcome relief. I had an inspired brain that I did not expect. So I ran with it. Starting with an assigned story of last night's party, to some book work to the journal and concluding with this bit of blog. Usual writing doubts fill my head. This voice of self doubt keeps pushing me against the wall making it hard to stay on target. For inspiration I read this passage:
You don't live there always when you write. Mostly it's a long hard walk. Sometimes it's a trudge through fog and you're scared you've lost your way and can't remember why you set out in the first place.
But sometimes you fly, and that pays for everything.
It's hard to believe my one day off is nearly over. I could use another. This must be why weekends were invented. I am hoping for one of my own soon. If I can carve out even 48 hours to do with what I will I plan to run away from my life again. It's been to long between excursions. I would like to spend another weekend in Denver, but will most likely just retreat to my favorite bed and breakfast in Scottsdale for a couple of days.
Though my intentions were good, my Sunday fell flat for a second week in a row. I spent the day chasing a hangover cure having over indulged Saturday night. I don't think I regret it, as I had a good time.... well, maybe a little. Spent the majority of the day when not concocting hangover shooters, writing, hoping something would catch fire. A welcome relief. I had an inspired brain that I did not expect. So I ran with it. Starting with an assigned story of last night's party, to some book work to the journal and concluding with this bit of blog. Usual writing doubts fill my head. This voice of self doubt keeps pushing me against the wall making it hard to stay on target. For inspiration I read this passage:
You don't live there always when you write. Mostly it's a long hard walk. Sometimes it's a trudge through fog and you're scared you've lost your way and can't remember why you set out in the first place.
But sometimes you fly, and that pays for everything.
It's hard to believe my one day off is nearly over. I could use another. This must be why weekends were invented. I am hoping for one of my own soon. If I can carve out even 48 hours to do with what I will I plan to run away from my life again. It's been to long between excursions. I would like to spend another weekend in Denver, but will most likely just retreat to my favorite bed and breakfast in Scottsdale for a couple of days.
I've spent enough time in this fog. A cigar and night's sleep should clear my head.
Postscript: I am out for my evening smoke and found it teeth chattering cold now. I had to retreat to the garage for a clandestine cigar. I am wearing goofy pajamas that resemble wallpaper from the 50's. I hope tonight does not bring a burglar, or cars crashing into my wall or a late night fire. I would hate to be caught in this getup.
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