Type, type, type, erase, erase, erase. It’s taking me quite a long time to come up with anything to write about today. I’m probably still insane Sunday lagged. Sunday I spent selfishly plopped on my couch eating chili with Verde and cheese over white bread. I drank a lot of Coke and smoked too many cigarettes. It was one of those strange mental train depot days where everybody got off to stretch their legs while the train re-fueled and the dining car was re-stocked.
I caught up on my Mythbusters and now I am 100% sure what caused the Titanic to sink and that one day I think I’d like to retire to the south of France and make wine. I did see a little too much of the old Sunday romance movies which always reminds me that I’m not very romantic in the Hollywood expectation sense and reconfirms my amazement that any woman would find it desirable to spend time with me in any capacity.
It is taking a long time to fill this blank page with something; far longer than I would like. I have far too many tasks I must attend to today to spend it whining about how I may have lost my sanity for a short time on Sunday. I stalked around my apartment in my underwear because why do I need to put on pants if I’m not planning on leaving the house. Sometimes I wonder if I’m getting a little agoraphobic.
I look out the window and see people out and about and I just can’t imagine what they are doing out there. I look at them like they’re the crazy people and I’m the smart one for staying indoors and avoiding all that solar radiation that’s probably killing us all. I think I’ll start making tinfoil hats. I’m just kidding of course, but I do look out the window and wonder what it would be like to be one of those people; one of those active, go getter types that always seem to be occupied with exciting activities.
I’ve accepted the fact that I’m not that person. If I have to do more than one task in a day I feel like my universe is going to collapse. I still wonder though and I think at times I could probably be that person, if I really had to. But I don’t challenge myself in that way. I don’t really want to be challenged that way. I like the imaginary version of myself. The one where I'm singlehandedly disarming terrorists and relaxing in my villa while my supermodel wife teaches me swear words in French. And always on my terms.
I have to quiet my brain now and turn it back over to work mode. Time is fleeting and things must be done.
I wonder if other artists feel this way?