Coneward Bound

You know that thing, when the toilet (or tub or sink) isn't *totally* clogged, but it takes freaking forever to drain?  And so you're like, "well, it still sorta works, so maybe I don't have to deal with this exactly at this moment." So you go on with your day and make a mental note not to use the downstairs bathroom for any protracted visits.

Well, I have been having some epic solidarity with the plumbing, let me tell you.  I am just so choked with obligation and resentment and self-loathing that I can't seem to get anything done these days.  I get up and compile my to-do list by thinking "okay, why am I not allowed to do any writing today?"  I go to bed thinking of all the time I've wasted stalling and procrastinating and putting my headspace EVERYwhere except where it's supposed to be.  And all the while, I eat like a garbage disposal.  (Because when you don't have time to have any fun, the only fun you're allowed is the kind that comes disguised as *efficiency* - as a cheap time-saving reward for all that not-fun you're having.)

And if you do this for long enough, the brain-hamsters start getting louder, and you start thinking that maybe you're not cut out to be a real writer after all - because, you know, real writers write every day.  Real writers treat it as their first priority.  Real writers have self-discipline and a work regimen and the drive to get things done.  So probably you should apologize for wasting everyone's time and go see if it's not too late to grow a career in food service.

This is, of course, horseshit.

Speaking of horses, here's a good one:

Majestic, no?

That's the Duke of Wellington, immortalized in glory outside the Gallery of Modern Art in Glasgow.  The cone has a long and storied history in itself, but at this point, it's been there long enough that we can safely to call it "icone-ic".  (See what I did there?  --Shut up, damn you, I'm trying!)

Anyway, I'm leaving today to spend a glorious week in Glasgow with my in-laws, and I can't tell you how excited I am to get back there again.  It's a magical land of green hills and gray skies, pubs and pies and people who love me - and I am going to try really hard to use this visit to fix my slow-draining soul. 

Apologies in the meantime for emails unsent, promises unkept, kindnesses unreciprocated, and this neurosis-laden post here.  You are a splendid human being - yes, you! - and I will prove it to you with a vengeance as soon as I get back.

That's plenty.