I just woke up from my nightly attempt at sleep and face a conundrum. I actually have an idea for a few different things to write about. These are things I could blog, or legit honest-to-goodness novel or script ideas I could work on. In either case, I can't bring myself to do it.

I groggily eyed my computer for a few minutes, then rearranged the placement of my tea on the desk a few times, using my innate sense of feng shui and a desire not to put it someplace where i'd end up soaking my 3rd keyboard this year.

I have a nagging sense of resentment and i'm not sure if it's at myself for not being ready, willing or able to write something more substantive yet, or at the computer for not being able to inspire me to greater creative endeavors, or at the world in general for making no demands on me whatsoever. Nothing creates a surge of creative lethargy like the knowledge that no one expects or wants anything from you.

Perhaps it is all a complicated dance I do with myself to create a good reason to sulk here for a good hour or two and play gold miner and watch Manos the Hands of Fate - waiting for a better idea to rise from my subconsious like a noxious bubble from the fetid swamp.

I need new pajama pants, these keep falling off. They will find my dead body at the bottom of the stairs, loose fitting pants tangled around my ankles, neck broken, and perhaps think a vengeful ghost with poor comedic timing decided to pants me at an inopportune moment, causing me to tumble badly from grace and out of this life to the next one.

Manos, here I come!