Friday night reverie, revisited

The other night I sent this pic over from Hello and was writing a post to go with it, but then ditched the whole thing. It just seemed too stupid - the photo, the writing, the very idea. And I do think in retrospect it was stupid, but now I’m also thinking that unless I stop editing everything in such a savage way, I’m going to be cooped up here in this cul-de-sac for ever with nothing to do. Yesterday I tried for hours to write something else and got nowhere. Maybe writer’s block is just self-censorship? Cutting off every idea before it even has a chance?

What’s wrong with stupid anyway? Nothing. It’s just not excellence. Excellence has its place, and it’s not here. Clearly (laughing). Here's what was scrawled on that clipboard:

I'm sitting on a windowsill. This is about the only window in the house without an insect screen; which is handy, because (as I've only just discovered) you can sit on the windowsill, rest one foot on the balustrade of the deck at the back of the house, rest a clipboard on that leg, write this, listen to k.d. lang making beautiful music, and feel a soft summer night breeze flowing across from the sea, picking up scents of woodsmoke on the way, bathing me in the scents of a happy future. Really. I've convinced myself a happy future is exactly like this - fresh air, woodsmoke, a soft touch at my cheek, black velvet sky and stars, beautiful music, and beer.

I'll probably fall off this windowsill any minute and plummet into the garden, but at this minute, in this air, with this music, with these stars... You've got to take happiness however you find it, eh?

Do I need to tell you that half an hour later I was boo-hooing about how tragic and awful everything is? Probably not. Sigh. It's so damn hard being such an idiot...