��� 2004-03-22, 10:16 p.m.
Creative Angst
I totally planned on writing tonight. Not in my diary, but on one of the three stories buring a hole in my head that keep running through my brain while I'm at work, distracting me, frustrating me, taunting me. It irritates me that my job takes up my best writing times: late morning, mid afternoon. Over Thanksgiving break I finished two stories in one day. See what happens when I don't have to go to work?
Instead, I came home. Put away my Sam's Club purchases. Ate dinner (a quite tasty couscous-tomato-artichoke-feta cheese combo). Played two stupid games of Zuma on Yahoo. Ripped pictures off my photo CD of pics I just got developed. Emailed them to family members. Played with the kitties. Yawn.
Bill is in New Hampshire for work. I always plan on writing when he travels and then I never do. Maybe I should plan not to write. I may end up writing just to spite myself. If I could rip one best seller out of my brain maybe I wouldn't have to go to work, deal with stupid people and annoying CPAs. My best story idea ever sits in it's file, insulting me, berrating me for not taking it to a book hospital. It's done, although not finished. It needs help. Lots of help. My irritation is surpassed only by my fatigue. Not a good situation.
Wine of the day: Rodney Strong Cabernet, 2001. Tasty stuff. A little dry and less fruity for a cab, good tannins. Plum tones. Almost spicy. I like. I think I paid $13 for it.
Whine of the day: I think you already heard it. *sigh*
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