Good question. Short answer: Nothing to write about.
No, it’s not writer’s block. Or maybe it is. Just that
nothing has caught my attention, shouting, “Write about this on the Hopper!” Or
maybe stuff has, it’s just that I haven’t been able to come up with a hook.
Normally (usually in the shower) I’ll be thinking about something that’s piqued
my attention of late and a line or two will come into my head. I’ll compose
most of the post standing with shampoo in my hair but will forget 95 percent of
it by the time I sit down to write at lunch or whenever, except for those first
one or two lines.
That hasn’t happened in a while.
I’ve been in the thick of World War II, specifically
the War in France, 1944. Watched Saving
Private Ryan last weekend with the girls. Big mistake to watch it with
Patch. Not having seen it in 17 years I forgot the sheer gore of Omaha beach.
She lasted seven or eight minutes, but Little One watched the whole thing and
was fascinated by it. This led me to blow the dust off Rick Atkinson’s third
book of his liberation trilogy, The Guns
at Last Light: The War in Western Europe, 1944-45. As with his previous two
works, an excellent, compelling read. I am already at page 225 of the 640-page
history. Will be sad upon its completion. But I understand Atkinson’s turned
his pen toward the Revolutionary War. That will be something I will eagerly
devour.
In a funk physically and mentally. I have a big
birthday coming up, and I’m not at a happy place. Overweight, under-exercised,
riddled with insomnia, engorged on junk food to cope on a daily basis, dissatisfied
with work and where I’ll be at the half-century mark. Maybe I should buy a
Lamborghini and dump the Mrs. for a twenty-something? Nah. Need money for that,
money I don’t have. Sigh. A large chunk of my day is spent searching for
something to relieve this self-induced pressure. Some form of motivation. Some
new way of looking at things. Unsuccessful so far.
Looking forward to six or seven days’ vacation down in
Hilton Head, visiting the in-laws. We’ve rented a house – the wife calls it a
“villa,” so I have no idea what she’s got us into - as her parent’s house is
too small for the four of us and our logistical nightmare. So that’ll be cool.
Plus, they generally leave me alone. Sure, I’ll go to the pool and the beach
with the family, but I get a lot of time to peruse used book shops, go for
walks, watch baseball with my father-in-law, stretch out on the couch and
listen to classical music. I’ll be finishing up The Guns at Last Light down there, and I’m also bringing a
Silverberg epic and a book on string theory. Should be very stimulating.
Also, the in-laws are excellent cooks and love – love!
– freely-flowing wine. And I may have to re-introduce my father-in-law to some
ice cold German beer.
Patch is gloriously up over her head in Greek
mythology. The same bug bit her sister three years ago. Wonderful – I remember
my fascination with the subject forty years ago, especially with the slim Edith
Hamilton paperback. We all watched some of 1963’s Jason and the Argonauts, and now my children view that creepy
Harryhausen scene where Talos comes to life as a highlight of childhood.
Little One suffered through the stomach flu earlier in
the week, but none of us caught it. She was up to 1:30 am with her twelfth trip to yak at the commode. My wife shouldered the main comforting duties, but I was
up for the whole thing, and didn’t get to sleep until 4. Then had to wake up at
6:30. And, approaching the half-century mark, my body doesn’t bounce back as
quickly as it did at the quarter-century mark. I’m still so tired I could fall
asleep right now at my keyboard.
Too many HAVES on my back right now. Have to jump
start the tax stuff for my job in December. Have to take 18 hours of education
for it, in fact. Have to get a physical. Have to have the heart checked out.
Have to get the – shudder –
colonoscopy thing done. Have to get Patch to her travel soccer practices,
starting tomorrow. Have to get Little One to the track to run. Have to get me to walk the oval while she’s running.
Have to this, have to that. Ugh.
I think tonight after everyone’s gone to bed I’ll put
on the headphones and listen to some Sibelius. Or Dvorak. Or Haydn. Or
Rautavaara. Or Debussy. Or …
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