Day 8

5.03: So where was I? Things that I’ve missed seem to include Stoke losing 4-0 to Portsmouth and drawing 2-2 with Wolves, and Afghanistan not having another election after all.

Day 7’s post tells me I was lurching close to a solution to my plotting difficulties but, as it is for inveterate drinkers so it goes for me: come Day 8, Day 7 seems nothing more than a Jackson Pollock spittle of good intentions and unfulfilled promises. Buggered if I can remember a thing, so let’s hope I wrote it down somewhere.

Speaking of which, my Mother tells me my drinking falls under the heading of “harmful use.” This is troubling, but also secretly a little bit cool. I could be like a sort of uptight, middle class Charles Bukowski. Must start smoking more and lisping less.

Bukowski’s gravestone has the epitaph “Don’t Try” chiseled into it, which I suppose, given I’m up at 5am getting on with writing a novel, is a lesson I’ve so far failed to absorb.

Back to it then, with sober, un-Bukowski-like purpose.

6.43: All told, not a bad morning back in the saddle, although I can’t say its hard leather contours have welcomed me painlessly. But the important thing is that the mule didn’t kick and throw me like John Travolta in Urban Cowboy. If you haven’t seen the film, I commend it to you – a sustained treatment of the mechanical rodeo bull as a metaphor for life’s mad vicissitudes. Guys lose girls to their own meat-headed stubborn pride, and uncles to industrial vats of molten steel.

Best watched, as I recall, at about 3 in the morning: so you can fit it in before you start work on your novel.

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~ by David Thorley on November 4, 2009.

One Response to “Day 8”

  1. Glad you are back, I need something to read when I eat my breakfast at 5am before heading out to work.

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