In the interest of "write more, sit at a desk less," I'm trying a new position in bed, Reader. I've brought my laptop to bed and am trying to see if Creativity is able to find me while I'm propped up with pillows in a semi-reclined position. I'm not sure if this position lends itself to creativity. At least not with a computer. Ba-da-bing! Who are we kidding, mostly not with anything else either, unless it involves compiling a lengthy wish-list in my head of home renovations I want to do that have been inspired by HGTV. That's what mostly happens in bed around Chez Bang Bang. Mostly, Reader, because I'm still a lady of mystery.
Did you laugh as hard as I did over that last sentence?! Wooo Doggie me too! as Andy Griffith would say.
But back to the business at hand, which is create more. As I've mentioned in my prior post, I love Elizabeth Gilbert's book Big Magic so hard, and I really want to try a make some creative changes - I'm getting no where fast and feeling stale.
Because if nothing changes, nothing changes. But I have the toughest time with her biggest point, which is discipline. I'm just so tapped out after sitting at a desk for eight to ten solid hours during the work week that the last thing I want to do is open my laptop and sit at the kitchen table. But I want to write stuff.
Feel the conundrum, Reader?
So I'm giving this a go. We are now officially in bed together. I expect flowers in the morning, just so you know. Although I did re-take my Love Languages test today to see if my expectations had changed and no sirree, they have not. Wanna get in my pants? Do the dishes and run the vacuum. If you filled up my car with gas once a week and ever ever ever ran it through the car wash for me, this body would be your wonderland. Well, not necessarily a wonderland in the John Meyer sense, but more along the lines of "I wonder what the fuck is going on there?" kinda way. That kinda wonderland. But it could be yours, all yours, for the simple act of a few household chores and maybe installing a rainforest showerhead for me. So yeah. Just come over and install my showerhead tomorrow, Reader, skip the flowers.
Alright. This didn't go anywhere near the road I had intended to take, but I took you along for the ride on a Tuesday night, Reader, and that's the important part - I'm in bed, and putting out for YOU, mid-week! And you thought our relationship had no surprises left. Don't underestimate me. Don't overestimate me, either. Just don't do any sort of estimating, I guess is the lesson here.
Okay. We'll try this again tomorrow night. Maybe it'll be better. I need a ciggy*.
*I stayed up way way way too late Sunday night watching Bridget Jones Diary. It has sort of embedded itself in my brain, and I even woke up this morning singing - complete with a British accent - a made-up musical number about the hole in my sock and too many cats in the house. See what you miss when you don't spend the night, Reader?
**I stayed up way way way too late Monday night watching a fucking scary movie, which I hate, but got sucked in and couldn't stop watching and it lasted until 2 a.m. or something ridiculous, and when the credits rolled it said it was a true story, so then I was really fretful all night long and tossed and turned and had a stuffy nose which really just compounded the problem. The end result equalled two nights in a row with short/tossy-turny sleep and a lot of red eyes today at work.
**And oh, by the way, I don't really need a ciggy. It's just fun to say ciggy.
***And lastly, I think the verdict is out on whether or not I'm good in bed. At blogging, Reader. At blogging. I know I'm awesome at the other thing. (sleep).