frantic morning hum

[radfrac_archive_full]

I really wanted to have a ten-minute tale for All of Us this morning, but although I put writing very first on the agenda, apart from a couple of promising paragraphs about a spelunking cave known as God's Asshole, I didn't make much headway. All metaphors of motility will sound mischievous from here on in.

Every morning an alarm goes off in my palm pilot around 10:30 or 11, and I read the list of things yesterday-self assigned today-self. Then I sneer at yesterday-self's reverend memory, and foist them all off on tomorrow-self.

It's always the dishes that fall by the wayside, and now I see them clattering sadly from the roof of an overpacked Volkswagen minibus, or the black and red CLASS WAR (RAW SSALC) van of the Great Trek. Of which, more another time.

I've actually done a lot of writing of late, but not a lot of finishing; there seems to be time before work to get about halfway through something -- or, more honestly, right to that point at which you either have to take a risk or pretend you're out of time. I think of that as halfway, because that's where the chasm suddenly gapes, and the rest of the story waits far across it. I seem to have time to get in a good running start, stop short, and say pensively, "Tomorrow."

So: tomorrow.

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Comments

Morning hum

[(Anonymous)]

Oh, Bear. Don't make us hold you to that promise. I'll check in tomorrow, and don't wish to be disappointed. I've dealt with too much of that lately, both my own and that I've foisted on others. And I'm not going to wallow in the low double entendre. I'm going to simply think Milne and forget the other even crossed my one track mind.

\i/

Re: Morning hum

[radiantfracture]

And I am one of the worst, I know, for tomorrowing and tomorrowing, and suddenly it's the last syllable of recorded time and we haven't said a thing that matters.

There is mostly fluff in my tawny head, but I will see what I can do.

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