She'd Ash on the Carpet
Let's see what to write because my writing has dropped off. Eh - I don't want to bitch. I don't want to gloat. I don't want to whine and I have no desire to preach right now. So what does that leave old Bret with - - - hmm - his own objective brain? It is scary to say the least.
I am writing a story now about love. I'm writing in conjunction with another writer and hopefully - eh hem - they will keep writing and not tire on me. I'm also putting together a war story about a tribal leader that has his neighborhood taken over by a gov't lead military insurgence. He bands his 7 friends together (WOLVERINE STYLE!) and they fight back a staggered abandoned troop of Chinese and Cubans that don't know the war has eneded. Daily these groups sling propoganda at each other and fight over a 10 block piece of land littered with bodies and falling supplies.
I'd like to write something later today - as the Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath really ignites me to write every morning but there is something about work that just seems to zap it out of me as soon as I sit down. It's almost as though my eyes get heavier and my posture goes south. I look at my roll call for things to do and realize that writing is just a stage act meant to divert my attention from the fact that I merely run the lights.
Maybe I should have went to law school in order to bullshit around for another 3 years in hopes of finding something I want to do - - whoops -
The weather is changing here and I have to lose some weight. Random I know but - my malaise is only quenched by one thing and that thing is so rare to me these days that - well - I get caught up in sitcoms and TV dramas more than I need to be caught up with how her skin feels.
