Dear Notebook,
The cat is on me. She has settled herself on my collarbone and to make sure she doesn't slide off, I need to lean back.
It is impossible to write in this position.
This is sad, so sad. I know we all have our good days and our bad days, but things are downright stinky lately. Whether I struggle with the same old stories, trying to make them subripe, or sit down to write something new, nothing jives at the moment.
And my feet are cold. If this keeps up much longer, I'm going to start writing limericks. Hmpf.
A writer once sat quite alone
ignoring the door and the phone
she drank so much tea
she needed to pee
when she came back to the book it was done!
bloody book fairies. they're almost as unreliable as the dish fairies...
4 comments:
Cats are a pretty good excuse.
I'm trying to read the limerick aloud in an accent that works and failing - eye rhymes are cheating! ;)
Ah, but Sylvia, you've confused eye rhyme with crap. :)
Anyway, Limericks have a long and glorious tradition of not quite rhyming. Actually, they have a long and glorious tradition of repeating the same word in the first and last line, which looks rather cheaty to me. So there I go again, any excuse not to write- I mean *really* write, like work on my "Fucking Fairy" story. My goal last month was to sub it by the end of this month. Hahahahaha...
Here, kitty kitty kitty!
What's rotten about the stinky moments is that they feel they might last forever, whereas the fun stuff seems always to wish to fly elsewhere.
Add cats to the equation and all hop is lost.
That's a typo, but I'll leave it. Seems apt.
Oddly enough, whirl, when things are going well it feels so easy I can't believe it's not like that all the time. I scratch my head and wonder why I was making it so hard for myself. Go figure.
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