Blah blah blah

DAMMIT.

I've started three sentences and can't fucking focus on anything.

When I was walking home I had all these wonderful ideas form in my head and I couldn't wait to come home and ticka ticka out a blog. I walked in the door, fed the four leggeds and completely zoned out on online bingo.

I haven't done anything else for my book and the deadline I gave myself of winter is rapidly approaching and I can feel disappointment-fucking self inflicted disappointment-start to creep in because I am a master at procrastination.


Why is it so hard to be creative when things are going well? Am I destined to be one of those tortured writers that needs to be a raging alcoholic to succeed?

Can't do that...don't like the taste of the booze. Except cold beer on a hot day. Or margaritas with fajitas. Ooo or bloody marys for breakfast. Ok, so I like the taste of some booze. 

I yelled at someone today and hugged someone else. I wanted to eat chocolate for lunch and actually might have it for dinner. I feel a little more sarcastic than usual and that the general public are complete idiots.


DAMMIT.

The 65th Post

Wedding Day



Funeral

Wedding Day

He had loved him for so long and the day to share that love was here. His suit hung next to his, like monogramed towels they would never own. His jacket dark, his eyes light.

Funeral

He was never very good at saying goodbye but the day to try was here. His suit hung next to his for the last time. His jacket light, his eyes dark.