Note : think of blog entry title

Being freshly awoken, I have zero idea of what to write about today. To be honest, my brain is just not there yet.

But I am eating and drinking Diet Coke, and that should help.

Until then, here goes whatever.

My toilet overflowed a little. And then it overflowed a little more when I stuck the plunger in there to clear the clog.  I must have done something highly uncharacteristic and walked away from a toilet as it flushes without waiting to see how it goes.

When you have the toilet-clogging history I do – I have to unclog my toilet once a day, minimum – you learn never to turn your back on a flushing toilet because that can lead to disaster. You must stand ready and alert because you might need to jiggle the handle to stop the flow then grab the plunger and prepare to do battle.

Pooping away from home can be very nerve-wracking for me for this very reason.

Cleaning up the spillage exceeds my modest life-competency capacities, so I have enlisted Joe’s help. Once more, I need Joe to rescue me from my own misfortunes.

And the fact that it is something toilet-related sets off all kinds of fucked up Freudian shame issues for me, but luckily I am not yet awake enough for that to have much effect on my mood.

Thank goodness all that was in there was pee.

Been having trouble staying focused lately. I keep drifting off into reverie. It’s happened three times already as I have been typing this. Woops, there goes number four.

This is usually a sign that I need more sleep. It’s like a microdose form of the microsleeps that come from extreme sleep deprivation. I don’t actually fall asleep, I just slip into a line of thinking and free association and end up just sitting here, lost in thought, and then have to drag myself back to the present.

It’s not unpleasant. In fact, the reverie itself is kind of pleasant. A dreamer’s paradise, I suppose, being able to go entirely into our own minds without losing contact with reality and plunging into the dark and unclean waters of the subconscious mind.

Makes it damned frustrating to try to get anything done, though. Such as blogging.

Playing another large-ish quest mod. This one is called the Grey Cowl of Nocturnal. 

So far it’s very puzzle-heavy, without a lot of combat. Normally I would find that frustrating, but the puzzles and the level designs are interesting and challenging enough that I don’t find myself spoiling for a fight very often.

Only had to peek at a walkthrough twice, both times minor. I don’t feel too bad aboyut that because I solved a hell of a lot of tricky puzzles all my myself, and so my batting average is quite high.

Still, it rankles my gamer’s pride. Esp[ecially because the two times I had to do it were for things I totally could have figured out myself if I had given myself more time.

In my defense, I was burning through a hell of a lot of brain calories and mentally tired.

If only mental activity was as good as physical activity when it came to promoting health. I’d be positively aglow with wholesomeness.

Mental activity does burn actual, non-metaphorical calories, though. So I suppose I would be even fatter if I didn’t spend all day working my very metaphorical brain muscles through media consumption.

I am way past the point where such things are optional. Like a star athlete, my mental workout are mandatory because my “muscles” demand it.

If I was in a situation where I had no books and no access to video games and no other suitable substitutes, I think I would go crazy.

In fact, I might go semi-catatonic because all I would end up doing would be lying or sitting down and dreaming my life away in that exact same kind of reverie I talked about earlier in this post.

And I would get really, really good at masturbating.

Of course, all that presupposes that I can’t write. If I can write, then that is what I would do most of the time. I imagine I would be like one of those loonies that filss binder after binder with tales of the life he wishes he was living.

Plus the usual obvious psychmacheas, bizarre psychosexual fantasies, Book of Revelations-level spritual journeys, and grandiose pontifications.

Doesn’t sound half bad, actually. I will consider it my backup plan.

Like I have said in this space before, I would love to go somewhere, say for a long weekend, where it is nice and quiet and away from it all, with only a computer with no internet capabilities and only a text editor installed.

Base on past experiences with internet outages, my mind would soon be bursting with inspiration and I would end up wrting like hell the whole time.

Dunno if any of it would be any good – going into that feverish state of mind is a lot like an acid trip in that I have no idea whether it would be a good trip or a bad trip – but it would probably do me a lot of good.

It would relieve a lot of that word pressure in my head and hopefully clear my mind and let me work out some of my issues via writing.

That’s not going to happen in my current world of distractions, but my dream getaway would be the ideal conditions for it.

That’s more or less what was happening with last November’s NaNoWriMo novel. It wasn’t quite as unhinged and psychedelic (sp?) as I had planned, but it still helped me a lot because I got some ideas oyut of my head and onto the page.

Plus, of course, lots of smutty stuff. Mostly implied rather than described, but implies so heavily that even a Mormon child would figure it out.

I really should give porn writing a try. I am sure. I could write some amazing stuff.

And what the hell, people might actually pay for that kinda stuff.

Money. What a concept.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.



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