Mein Got

I just wanted to thank you for putting into words what it's like to procrastinate, to put off, to delay, to do all the things that don't matter to avoid doing what you must.

Here's how my life goes: My wife generally tries to give me an hour window in which to write each Saturday and Sunday. If I don't take that fucking window and do something with it, that's it. That's the ballgame.

Today, as soon as she left, I pulled out my cock and gave it a few half-hearted cuffs. It kind of looked back at me. It reminded me of one of those short crystal formations, my balls as the base and my shaft as the one central crystal.

There were also some decidedly non-crystalline, obscenely long, pubes that looked as if they'd like to make a break for it and attach themselves to the sofa. My pubes like to give me away. My wife knows the pubes by sight and always busts me when she finds one. She's clever enough to understand that a found pube is overwhelming circumstantial evidence off a grip having taken place.

So I was sitting there contemplating my ugly and unresponsive penis when I remembered that I'd already gotten laid today. So, no grip required. That freed up a good deal of time.

I knocked out 1,200 words, so I feel pretty good, but I did make it close. After the abortive grip, I turned on the television and watched football highlights with my zipper down. I guess a part of me wanted to see if my penis would suddenly decide he was in the mood after all. But no, even the penis wanted me to write.

Just wanted to say one other thing: I went surfing today and dropped into this overhead wave that walled up just right for me. A left, nice big green ramp to go up and down, oh, it was lovely. I fucking love to surf. One day I'll write about a surfer.

One last thing in this horribly unfocused grab-bag of nonsense. Remind me to tell you about villainy and my writing. I think I'm onto something but want to run it by you.