I'm Indian leg-wrestling The Blahs right now. Don't much feel like writing or doing anything, and that's not a useful or productive state in which to be on the last day of quiet before the kids begin a few weeks of Christmas vacation (oh, EXCUSE ME-- "Winter Break," as we'd not want to offend anyone... ).
I have two open scripts on my monitor desktop, and every time I go to work on either, I become acutely aware of the sound of the clock ticking, which would not be that curious except that we don't OWN any ticking clocks, which makes me wonder if perhaps my self-conscious is again childishly mocking me.
The weasely bastard.
It's not helping one bit that as I wander around the Intra-Webs all I see is dumbth and stoopidity in full flower, as the morons are ouy in force and intelligent comment and genuinely amusing observation seems on vacation somewhere for the seventeenth consecutive month online (which equates to something like 11.2 years in non-web/non-dog years).
Like Auda Abu-Tai, I feel anxious -- I must find something of honor..."
I'm wondering if perhaps a round of vomitous inebriation might not help.
puddle of fun B