"And I bellowed at the firmament
Looks like the rains are hear to stay
And the rain pissed down upon me
And washed me all away" - Nick Cave
Writing is easy! You just have to do it. So, my final weekend of freedom from toil was spent feverishly hacking at my manuscript, right?
Guess what. Fact is a couple of friends took the ride up from down south, and we ate an awful lot and drank shitty scotch and argued into the very jaws of dawn. Then I watched TV with a fuzzy head all day Sunday.
But the daily ignominy of having to earn my roof and bread has spurred me into spending every spare evening hour delicately sculpting my baby into ever more incredible approximations of perfection, right?
Look, you get tired, I get tired. We get tired.
But my first weekend, freed so briefly from the rigours of a brutalist capitalist system. Editing like my very life depended on it, right? Well then a huge thunderstorm rolled by outside my high apartment window. Looks like the rains are going to stay, so I'm off to drink demoniac liquors - the kind that force your lips and gums into a rictus fit for the devil himself - and watch the rains come down and listen to the thunder roll about the mountains that shadow our little city and watch lightning shatter the hooded sky.
There's always tomorrow. The rain can't fall forever. Can it?