Dad asked me when I was gonna write again.
I had no discernible answer.
Soon, I guess.
It's not that I hadn't tried. I've sat down to write fifty times since my last post. A page or two here and there. Never a blank page. Not writers block by any means. I'd sit, I'd write, I'd look at the clock, I'd get listless and decide to do something else. Sometimes I had to leave to make dinner or pick up the monkey from school and just never return to the computer.
Sometimes I'd be filled with an idea and it never looked right on the page.
Sometimes I just got too tired at the end of the day and didn't feel like concentrating.
Rarely did I have nothing to say.
Rarely did I spend a single day without reminding myself that I've got to get back to it.
And then there was distraction.
God bless distraction.
First it was a full set of fantasy novels. A series I started many years ago. A series where the author died about four books before finishing. Then of course I read online that someone was finishing the series. So of course I had to go back and reread most of it before the new ones come out so that my memory is fresh. Thirteen novels a thousand pages deep. Took a little time.
Then there was work. I don't talk about work. But lets just say for explanation's sake that things got complicated.
Then there was the heat. My computer moved from the studio/man cave/garage to the bedroom of the seventeen-year old. And lets just say that he's not exactly the outdoorsy type. In fact, armed with a super fast computer and a supply of processed foods he might never see daylight or have a functional conversation that hasn't been converted from analogue to digital and back to analogue again.
And the little one has just been a nightmare. I actually preferred the terrible twos.
I haven't been musically dead either. I set up the guitar in the living room with the express intention of playing music everyday and I have four new songs to add to the list.
I did one show, and canceled another.
My wife got me a charcoal grill. Which kept me quite busy.
And then there was Netflix.
I can now stream free movies and TV shows directly to my television or computer. Give me a bottle of wine and an open schedule the next day and I can watch an entire season of shows and not get up from the couch except to pee.
And sometimes not even that.
So of course I discovered "Lost"
Actually, "discovered" is the wrong term.
"Acquiesced" might be better.
All of my co-workers felt that I either had to watch the show or suffer the indignity of pop culture reference ignorance. Which is a cardinal sin with the crew. Sometimes if I miss a one liner, the crew won't speak to me all afternoon.
"Can you beleive Josh didn't get it when Brian called him 'Maverick' and told him that he was dangerous?"
"No way!"
"Totally! And he was even old enough to have seen 'Top Gun' in the on the big screen"
"Wow . . . I hope he's okay."
So as I reset my little studio, I decided to test out the sound system with episode one.
Forgive me, father, for it has been one week since I even bothered to use my free time for anything other than streaming "Lost" episodes into just about every room in my house.
I stumble to bed each night, shirt wrinkled, pants unbuttoned, reeking of old man sweat, and hope not to wake my wife. I forget to make dinner. My hands shake a bit. (They always have, but I wanted to throw that in for effect).
I'm not sure how many seasons there are right now. All I know is that I am fifteen episodes into season two. I haven't bathed.
No . . . thats not true.
I just haven't enjoyed bathing as much as I usually do.
But the moral of the story is this:
If you want to start blogging again, get addicted to "Lost", and then promise yourself you can finish another few episodes if you got back to the bully pulpit.
Having your dad nag you to do shit doesn't hurt either.
What time is it?
