A pretty significant source of anxiety recently has been the ever-growing, ever-less-manageable amorphous mess of prose that has been steadily piling up in various files in the vault.  I’ve made a couple rather valiant (if I may say so myself) efforts at going in there and tackling the whole mess and sorting through it and trying to figure out what goes where, but those have lasted only briefly before I was sent scrambling for the desk whiskey in the hopes of staving off a panic attack.  Needless to say, that tactic has not been successful in the least.  So today I decided that I have three books in the works.  Two have titles.  They now all have tables of contents – at least basic versions of them.  Which helps rather a lot.  In the few hours since I finished laying out the tables of contents, I’ve been unusually productive.  Nothing is quite as helpful on a journey as knowing what the destination is.

N.P.: “Land of Confusion” – Disturbed

I drove through some pretty thick fog this morning, unenthusiastically.  Wrote a few things without enthusiasm.  Went for a decidedly unenthusiastic walk this afternoon.  Am presently eating a bbq’d hot dog with an absolute dearth of enthusiasm.  I’m not sure if I should even bother to try writing anything at this point.

We are unenthused.

N.P.: “Faust” – Emigrate

I left my window open last night specifically to be lulled to sleep by the comforting sound of falling rain, and then to be awoken by violent thunderclaps mid-morning today.  The rain was both lovely and effective, but this morning: quiet.  Only now, hours later, am I hearing distant rumblings, somewhere well to the north of The Creek and Hotel California and me.  I guess I’ll take it.

I’m going to try to finish this section of one of the books I’ve been working on today, then I’m going to decamp and head to a nearby Mexican bar to meet up with some old friends, drink large beer, eat meat, and watch the last half of some sort of athletic competition.  I’m just going for the beer and the meat.

N.P.: “Miss You” – The Rolling Stones

Ate Death Wings for dinner.  Mother of God.  That was the hottest my mouth has ever been.  Not even sure if I still have lips.

Today was a bit errandy for my tastes, but it had to be done.  This, of course, means tomorrow is clear for writing.  I’m so far behind.

N.P.: “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” – Dropkick Murphys

Haven’t written much today, dear reader.  Did more talking than writing, which is always weird.  There’s still some time left in this day, though, so I’ll see what I can do.

It rained so goddamn hard today…’twas amazing.  The skies were black over Anhedonia most of the morning, and once they opened up, I feared for the structural integrity of the skylights.  That sort of Old Testament weather shit needs to happen more frequently around here.

N.P.: “Put Me to Work” – Big Data

Right now I have this file and the book file open on this laptop.  On my phone I have a third file open, a totally separate writing project.  Two sentences on this one, switch to another…a paragraph there, then two sentences here.  This is not at all unusual for me.  It’s sort of comfortable working that way…if it wasn’t, I’m guessing I wouldn’t do it.  But I have to wonder about the consistency of the final product.  The unity of voice.  I guess we’ll see.

I’ve been unusually productive the last couple of days.  It’s probably the rain.  I’ve always felt a certain comfort from the rain.  It tried to kill me once, the rain.  seriously.  When I was 12.  I haven’t told many people about that.  Remind me to tell you sometime when we’re drunk.  But yeah, despite that, I still feel somehow comforted,  Less alone.  Even a bit inspired.

Okay, that was fucking schmaltzy.  Perhaps I should just write two things simultaneously.  Right.  Back to the book.  And the other thing.

N.P.: “Eagle Birds” – The Black Keys

I was sorry to hear of the passing of Tim Conway today…hell of a comedy writer.  One of the best.

I had the displeasure of struggling to artfully cope with a goddamn roundabout today.  The sat nav seemed to panic and started talking like someone explaining how to tie one’s shoes to a particularly dim 5-year-old.  I was through the stupid thing before the sat nav could finish explaining what I was supposed to do.  A fucking roundabout.  In the United States of America.  Disgusting.

Listen, I’ve been to England.  It’s an amazing country composed of some of the best people you’ll ever meet.  I loved almost everything about it, but the one thing that absolutely sucks is their traffic laws.  First, I don’t have to tell you, they drive on the wrong side of the road.  That is not a subjective judgement: those limey gits know it’s wrong.  Every single intersection in London is garishly painted with arrows and the written-in-block-letters instructions to “Look This Way” when you step off the sidewalk into the crosswalk.  The rest of the world doesn’t have that because it’s not needed.  It stands to reason that pretty much the only countries that drive on the wrong (left side of the road) still or at one time had Her Majesty on their money.  Virtually every country who managed to repel or escape the British Empire  (Germany, France, Poland, Austria, all the Scandinavian countries) drives on the right (and hey, props to our pale Canadian brethren in the north for driving on the right side despite having the Queen on the cash).  Because that’s the way God wants it.

There are myriad other issues with driving in England, (e.g., it being illegal to pass somebody on the right if they are in the fast lane but going slower than you), but the whole driving-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-road debacle should be enough to steer anyone with any common sense away from looking to Merrie Olde England for traffic innovations.

I hate roundabouts so much.  The morning after the revolution, I’m going to have them all blown up.  #FRoundabouts  #BuggerTheQueen

N.P.: “Was Ise Hier Los?” – Eisbrecher

I’m trying to do way too much, dear reader.  ::sigh::  And on some days I feel ill-equipped to do any of it.

I did get given the finger by a clown (in full makeup, avec big red nose) in an aquamarine Smart car.  That was kind of awesome.

N.P.: “Rock the Casbah” – The Clash

At dinner tonight, I gave the server a 50% tip.   Honest to god, I have no idea how people can do that job, put up a ravenous, obnoxious, and often moronic public whilst smiling, and somehow manage to not go on the occasional killing spree.

N.P.: “Mother” – Pink Floyd