Writers block

I know what Champagne is! (the song playing on Spotify having just referenced the beverage) I glance in the rear-view mirror, ‘Oh yeah?’. ‘Its something that used to be in our fridge’. I smile, she is not wrong. I steal a look at the clock on the dash. Seven forty seven.

Still too early. (but I can’t help thinking, ‘that might help’)

It feels like a coffokarocca type of morning. I’ve only slept about five hours in the last two days. Mom is out of town until this evening, doing breadwinner-type-stuff, and so I’ve been relegated to single-parenting, something I’m unquestionably bad at.

Everyone and everything seems so incredibly needy, constantly demanding food, attention and feedback. At some point between 2 and three ay-em my bed becomes a bivouac for the menagerie with a three year old, a six year old… a German Shepherd, a Basset Hound and a Maine Coon all vying for square meterage… and all fast asleep… except for me, clinging to the edge of the bed wondering how I’d gotten so screwed in this real-estate annexation.

Post school run I have now shuffled into my local with the intention of caffeinating myself to the point of functionality, hopefully stopping short of that nebulous threshold where I can ‘hear colors and taste electricity’. (I’m not quite as hardcore as I used to be and I don’t really want to blow my cogs). We’re still aways from that though I ruminate, although I’ve switched to single shots, as an added precaution.

I’ve been really bad at posting of late. Writers block, I offer, having written several eminence-less drafts that now occupy some sort of scriven-purgatory unlikely to make it to ‘publish’ any time soon. None of them are really any good, although, is anything I write ever, I burble.

Ha ha. Self-loathing aside, it’s probably more a function of the extreme sloth that I’ve been grappling with. The deadly sin he added after some consideration and not the arboreal mammal. I feel I could take one of those, despite my advanced years. My condition seems to have become more intractable and entrenched of late (as opposed to a dalliance or casual flirtation). Like some form of psychological Somme… moving a mile or so in either direction, but never really resolving itself in a meaningful way.

My waiter has a Valravn tattoo on his hand. And a Vegvisir further up his arm. One of my Dansk brethren I wonder vaguely. I consider engaging with him about it… although maybe I’m feeling introverted or misanthropic, I haven’t really decided on the trajectory for my day yet. His Afrikaans (to the one of the other customers) is good, but accented… so he could very well be a transplant or first gen. But then if I spoke to him and it turns out it was more a case of cultural appropriation (not that I believe this is actually a thing) would I be disappointed? I decide that maybe I would be and so I leave it. (Maybe he’s just really into God of War or the Vikings tv show)

This is about five minutes of internal dialogue. To be fair its happening while I’m shoveling bagel, scrambled egg and bits of bacon into my face-hole, so I’m basically multi-tasking.

Note that I can still pull it together enough to sneak in some adolescent boy humor. Ha ha. So I can’t be feeling that miserable about my lot in life.

In any event. I’m about done now clacking away at my MacBook and looking like I’ve achieved something meaningful. (its important to keep up appearances when in a coffee shop). Time to meander. I also need to pick up some essentials. Like cat food. (there are real life consequences to not having certain staples in the house… like being attacked, by something that is basically the size of a caracal now, when its hungry)

Good luck Joey. Be brave.

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