I've just started reading a new novel "A Disorder Peculiar to the Country" by Ken Kalfus. It was pressed firmly into my hands (with a smile) by Mez, along with the always cryptic "I would *love* to hear what you think."Well, I'm not sure where it will go from here, but after 20 pages I'm hooked by a wicked opening setup - a bitterly divorcing couple think each other have died in the september 11 suicide crashes in New York. Both of them experience the day through an unfolding sense of glee. If that's not a dark and clever environment to introduce characters, I don't know what will please you!
Today I'm struggling to keep up with the little red line scrolling down my calendar for the day. It is inexorably mowing down the time left to achieve anything off last week's to-do list. January is already in it's last 8 hours and somehow I need to deal, baby, and move on already. The Client is caught up in "'session', I just don't like 'session'. I want something generic and descriptive".
Don't we all?
That could almost be a request for a philosophy of life.
None the less, this word out of two pages of copy is a stumbling block, and there's no moving on until we resolve the emotions the word is generating. So another meeting pops into next week's schedule.
Writing at home is blocked too.
Possibly also on "session" in a different way.
There's time, that's not the problem.
Every night the ticking of the second hand slows down and time stretches out and retreats into a heat haze with mosquitoes and steroid-driven frogs as the woozy, trippy soundtrack. No, it's the held energy, the focus that's completely missing. Within an hour of leaving the aircon, my brain slows down, energy dissipates and then, shutdown.
Scratching suddenly feels like a triumph.
I need to find a way through this or I will end this year with nothing but a pointlessly over-informed opinion of free-to-air television.
Life is definitely too short for that!
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