Except now. Now, that it's raining. I am sitting here, suited up, ready to soak up the sun and wasting sunscreen.
Guess I'm ready to get burnt again.
Wow, it seriously isn't going to end anytime soon either. I am disappoint.
Back to the basics: my muse ran away. Initially I thought she was only hiding so that I would go outside and enjoy summer, rather than go about my pasty white life as is; but now...I think I'm being punished. Punished for my lack of effort, for my laziness.
I stopped writing - all together. Unless you count countless tweets about the sun and the pool and music.
Maybe that's it; I needed a musical intermission. Maybe.
But, honestly? Some genius needs to invent mind to text like now. This is out of control. I need my thoughts to instantly transfer into a memoir before they're gone for good. I need to be able to be in the pool, swimming, while simultaneously writing the next best seller.
Word.
I had an ingenious idea for the beginning - or middle? - of a novel. I had it right before I fell asleep last night. I punched it lazily into my iPhone Notes app and passed out. Today, I remembered, by chance, that I had done that, read it, and smiled. It was still just as epic as it was when my sleepy brain thought it up.
This is good. This means no more looking at scraps of paper and trying to decipher what I actually meant to write, or wondering what the hell my Excedrin PM influenced self was thinking.
I'm not used to my afterthoughts making sense like that. It's kind of nice.
More later (probably not).
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