lying in bed, just like Brian Wilson did

It's funny how sometimes it seems to be easier to talk around things than to actually talk about them. Blogging is a really good example of that. Sometimes I think about things that I would like to blog (during the day) and then when I come home and actually sit down here at the computer, nothing comes to mind and I end up writing about obscure or very general things that aren't too relevant to what's actually happening in my world. I'm not sure whether that's self-preservation or something else.

The weekend was lovely. I am sunburnt now, but that happens when one spends most of two days outside...there is actual COLOUR on some of my skin. it's fabulous. There was poetry, there were good friends, hot tubs, large goldfish, conversations about absurdist theatre, thunderstorms...all this equates to a general feeling of contendedness with the world right now.

Tara wrote about creative drought yesterday, which begs me to consider why I haven't *really* written in a pretty considerable amount of time. I think that at a certain point, it simply becomes easier to not write. I read a book once called "The War of Art" which was essentially about not procrastinating and actually sitting down and writing (by the guy who wrote the Legend of Bagger Vance, weirdly enough)...of course, it didn't actually motivate me to write anymore, but I am hoping that will change soon and that I will have a chance to actually get some of what I'm feeling down on paper.