No Rest For The Wicked

So I started feeling sick on Friday, I knew I was coming down with something, I had a moderate sniffle, my face felt flush and I had that mysteriously spicy feeling on the roof of my mouth, as if I had just consumed a barrel of citrus fruits followed by an entire shaker of salt. So I took it easy Friday night, matter of fact, I took it easy all weekend, I barely left my house, I ate soup, took lots of meds, drank Orange Juice and slept whenever possible. Where did this leave me? With a missing recovery day, because whilst most people I work with had the glory of Columbus day to wallow in their own hangovers, I had to be downtown at eight sharp, already holding two downtowns, five giant social law books, pretending not to be cold in the beautiful shade of Winthrop Square with only Bill and BG to keep me company. Gradually others showed up, it seemed that every company was represented by one or more of it's folk and we all commiserated about the fact that there was no work, it was cold as hell for October and we'd all rather be having a ditch day at someone's house. But, to our own surprise, we held fast, we endured, we got jobs, we made deliveries on a day when no banks, no post offices, few law firms and zero government buildings were open. At about one, I was given the option to leave early, which I jumped at, even though in reality, and I knew this to be true, leaving then meant I would be leaving at three, which I did. So I set off to make a productive day of the remaining sunshining hours I had left. I managed to; buy a box of Emergency, get a cup of coffee I easily could have made at home, peruse records I didn't need and didn't want, smoke a bunch of cigarettes, buy new pedals, take a bath, eat a candy bar and ultimately screw around on the internet for what may be the better part of an hour. Meanwhile, I need to; do the dishes, a load of laundry, install the new pedals I purchased, eat some real food(probably soup), and pick a creative endeavor to begin commencement upon. Why do we put off the easy things in favor of time-consuming difficult shit? Because we need failure to inspire us. Not really, because we fear not having the energy to do them later, which we ultimately don't. Instead, we burn ourselves out on useless shit leaving nothing done and plenty of self-loathing to go around. Hooray, I'm a slapass. Fuck.

Stumped and Rooted

Being in a creative rut is kind of like having your foot stuck in a bear trap. It hurts, terribly. No matter what you do, it will take something awful and painful to gain your freedom, the equivalent of gnawing your own foot off or severing it with the trap itself are two of the less graphic options for forward movement. I suppose the best thing to do would be to try and walk with the trap attached and reach a place where you can get help removing it. Though, to be sure, you would be dragging a painful, bloody useless limb miles before you reached any signs of help. So now, for the past few months at least, I've been dragging a bloody limb of creative limbo everywhere I go, and though I loathe the cold infinitely, I know the sheer trauma, pain and aggravation of it, not to mention my tendency to dig in and hibernate when not working, will hopefully create some form of inertia for me to regain the inspiration I'm yearning for. This is not an invitation for anyone to amputate any of my limbs, or remove my organs and leave me in a bathtub full of ice in a strange motel room in Burlington. Simply a very complicated excused for why this page has been left so desolate and empty for such an extended period of time. If I were a bear, I would have eaten the friendly gentleman who was making a documentary about me and/or become a decorative floor covering where a wealthy ivy-leaguer would currently be banging the lady friend he rufeed at a Manhattan nightclub in the ass. Either way, I suppose I'm better off with a bloody stump.