I Have No More Excuses and I Am Officially Lame

I want to write. I want to write I want to write I want to write. I want to write ANYTHING. But no, because suddenly - as if cleansing my colon had the inverse effect on my creativity and inspiration - I have nothing to say. I am not even writing on the train these days, which has always been the refuge I could go to to turn out the ideas in my head. Even if nothing came of them at least I was writing. Now I am not. And I am perpetually frustrated.

I have ideas though. I have them and they all come to me at exactly the same time each day: right before I begin my few short hours of work. I want to put out a blog or sketch something in charcoal, getting up to my elbows in black. I want to start a collage. I want to write a story or work on my various stagnating books. Each day it's something different that I put off because I should be cleaning (like right now, for instance) and then I will work on English with the young one and then I will make dinner for the family followed by dinner for me and by nine I have to do my homework or else I would like to do some yoga or maybe my brain is too tired and I will just make some phone calls but anyway you slice it I no longer have motivation to be creative.

The ridiculous part is all of the hours I have between work and school, and how during those hours I feel dry and uninspired. People would give various appendages for this kind of time and me, now that I have it, I find myself frittering it away. Which leaves me with the nagging desire to bang my head furiously against the wall. Physically, I mean, because I am already doing it metaphorically.

Alas, banging my head against the wall is not as pleasant as banging out a little bit of a story on the keyboard. So I skip that part.

In other news I am going to Caen for the weekend with Toady. We taking a nice four day weekend and I expect that I won't be writing a blog during that time either. Maybe I'll surprise you, who knows.

Because also? Host Dad sent away and had repaired my beloved and long lost iBook, and I am back in the business of portability for writing. It should also serve my addiction to the internet quite nicely as well.

Now stop your bitching already, you spoiled art brat.