I changed my writing milieu. Kitchen table [feng-shui wealth corner of house] instead of office. Laptop instead of desktop. Word instead of Final Draft.
Afternoon instead of way-too-early morning.
Limoncello instead of coffee.
Noise instead of quiet. New Order’s “Bizarre Love Triangle” blaring on the stereo. Interupted by convo’s with dad – arranging to get him home safely out of rehab next week.
“Every time I see you falling
I get down on my knees and pray”
Dad – “I’m the one who’s gonna make all the decisions. Not you.”
Me – “Who’s making decisions I just wanna set up some meetings [with home health care].”
Dad – [to entering nurse] – “Don’t take my pressure now I’m sure it’s up.”
We crack up.
Dad – to me – “You have me on the floor again already.”
Me – “Well…”
Dad – “Okay, I’ll call and set them up, okay? That’s what you want?”
Relief. Back to writing.
Must look up the word “sycophant” while smoking on the porch.
Yeah, sycophant works.
Dad calls back. Appointments are set up.
Back to writing.
“I’m waiting for that final moment
You’ll say the words that I can’t say”
[here is the song, I really like it -]