Instead of writing today, I:
1) drank 3 cups of coffee.
2) masturbated to orgasm three times. (Orgasm is such a silly sounding word. It makes the same shape in my mouth that hocking a loogey does. OOOR- gasm. PAAAA-tooey. God, I wonder if I will ever take sex seriously again. I need to plan scenes in which I am *forced* to take it seriously. Or bruise prolifically laughing.)
3) didthedishes madethekid’sbed sweptthefloor
4) hid from the UPS guy, until the very last minute when I weighed the cost of interruption versus the curiosity of the promised package. (Interrupting what, we might ask.)
5) wrote two long overdue reviews. (Reviews do not count as writing, my writer self says.)
6) Hocked a few loogeys. Go bronchitis. (OOOOOR-gasm)
7) Reveled in the fact that today– all day long– I have been alone. And that tomorrow, I might actually write something.
I had a dream in which I was instructed to write a story about an hour long trip on the bus in the rain.
I also had a dream about a three headed snake that had chewed itself into the chest cavity of an openly bleeding and overly friendly cat.
Perhaps I will combine the two.