It's Monday and I'm home for lunch -- had planned to chat with G., but she's not on; she told me she may go out shopping before her late start at work today.
I hardly wrote a thing this weekend. My posts here, and a few lines of a couple plays. I came into the weekend looking at sitting for the entire afternoons, writing at my computer in the living room, getting lost in the imagination. Like I used to when I created my tunes. Knowing the clock was ticking, hours rolling into the night, even into the morning, and being aware but not caring. I was doing something more important than worrying about the clock.
Anyway, I never got around to writing this weekend. Or maybe rather what I did was is kept putting it off.
What I always do -- keep putting it off. Would rather just dither here, or watch other people on tv, or play trivia with real people's voices flowing out of my computer. I even downloaded a couple games through GameTap this weekend. Can I blame the cold? Maybe a bit. But not for all of it.
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