Jack and Vaughn continue to do sluttish things in my head. I actually jotted dialogue notes on the back of an envelope over lunch. That is a dangerous sign.
I suck at work. Not literally. Unless I have a lollipop. But I'm trying to get in the right frame of mind. To focus, to have energy. The owner of the cafe where I get lunch told me today--when I said I was still tired from being sick--that I should say to myself, "I have energy! I'm not at all tired!" And it would just fade away. Yep.
I do love her, but I often distrust advice like that. About working at things from the outside-in. I should get over that. Life can imitate art--and artifice, and artfulness. Coincidentally I'd just acknowledged that to my therapist yesterday, but I'm not sure how much I believe myself. I often feel like things happen actively in my life when I'm not forcing them. Then again, many things have taken practice and effort, like working out. It's like, you have to gently nudge something forward, and then try to relax and let the current take it, occasionally sticking your hand in the water and gently adjusting your direction.
I overflow with platitudes. But not platypi, i.e., small carnivorous aquatic oviparous mammals of eastern Australia and Tasmania with fleshy bills resembling those of ducks, plus dense fur, webbed feet, and broad flattened tails. No, wait. I was wrong. There are platypi everywhere! Save me!
No, wait, wait--wrong again. I didn't mean platypi, I meant SGA stories! Ha ha! Silly me.