Poli Sci Guy asks me routinely how my attempts at writing a great novel and getting published are going. Every time, I reply, "Fine. It's fine. The blog is good, at least."
But I'm not writing anything outside of the blog. I'm not. I wish I were. Or, no, I mean that I wish I'd already written a good book so that I wouldn't have to settle down and actually have to write one someday.
I logged on to the blog just now intent on writing whatever came into my head, thinking that I might find an answer to Poli Sci Guy's challenge in what I wrote. I'm just not feeling the whole writing-a-book urge right now. It concerns me that it's only an urge I feel occasionally.
Lately, I've just felt tired. I'm trying to open myself up a bit. At the same time, I'm finding new things in my everyday life that amuse me or keep me fascinated.
Like how Chuck the bookstore manager has started talking to me more than he has to, as though I'm someone he enjoys talking to.
Or how people react when I wear a sportcoat into the office, which I did yesterday after last week's reactions.
I'm still inside my own little world, though, and it's still all about me in my head. Lupo's suggested I find a way to branch out, and I'm looking into that.
I don't want it to be a whim, though. I don't want any good thing I do to be on a whim. Or motivated by my own desire to be someone who does good things.
It's weird. I don't know if I'm talking about this the way I wanted to.
I feel like having a sandwich. And chocolate cake. And seeing my friend Edmondson. And seeing a movie with him. And having that be that.
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