Yep, running out of titles. You betcha!
It's been about two weeks since I returned to the gym... and I hate it! Really! What's the point here? When you smoke and drink, you feel great but die young. When you exercise and take care of yourself, you're in pain and die older. So, according to this logic, you want a long, painful life rather than a short, pleasant one??? Huh??? (Yes, yes, I know. Cancer is an unpleasant death. Sure. But offing yourself just after you're diagnosed ain't that bad.)
So, I've been working out and suffering from a variety of body-aches. I've also been sitting in front of the white elephant... or whatever Hemmingway called the blank page, anyway. Yep, I've been sitting in front of a blank screen... waiting to write. I haven't written anything in half a year... it's been a while, you know? The idea du jour is something called "The Myth of the Cubicle". (It's a working title.) It's an update to Plato's Myth of the Cave, put in a modern business. (So, you're doing a riff off of "Office Space" - my mind says.) It's tied into the whole idea of people being chained to their cubicles and... ("Office Space". You're ripping it off.) It's not a rip off of "Office Space". Honest. (Sure. Say what you want. You're washed up. You've run out of ideas.)
This is the shit I go through when I'm writing. It's the thoughts that keep me from moving ahead. Every thought, every word, every character is analyzed until... well, World of Warcraft has been a lot of fun...
Last night, I wrote about five lines.
But this morning, I found that by refraining from smoking (which is hard to do when you're killing yourself at the gym) my singing voice has begun to return. The only part of smoking that I really I hate (other than that whole "you're gonna die" part) is that my voice gets gummed up with tar. (There's a pleasant thought!) But this morning, I was singing Don Henley and Paul McCartney (not at the same time!) with no problem.
But don't worry. I won't be auditioning for bands any time soon!