February 12th, 2004


Tomorrow Never Knows

Awake at 6:30 yesterday morning, I nevertheless found myself tossing and turning long after I ought to have left the isle of consciousness.

I couldn't get Shabathawan out of my head, couldn't stop thinking about how much I hate that fucking novel, about sick and tired I am having it hanging it over my head.

Fantasized about giving up on it, declaring it a dead item, turning the page to something new, instead of this beast that has attached itself to me more than a decade now.

Maybe the story isn't as good an idea as I thought it was. Maybe I haven't thought through the characters enough. Maybe I'm not even a real writer ...

I don't know. I'm feeling better about it now, but still don't know if I'll have the intestinal fortitude to tackle another instalment today. Tomorrow? Tomorrow never knows ...

In other news - Oh. Wait. There isn't any other news. My life is an uninteresting merry-go-round of work, sleep and too much drinking.

Well, that's not entirely true. I'm supposed to go into the office today (on this, my "Sunday") for a meeting with a union representative. I don't want to.