The end of my week has settled into a featureless gray gloom both inside and out. The computer I usually tap away at is out of commission and I am left to hammer away at unfamiliar keys. Not a big deal. At work everyone is in deadline mode and nobody seems to give a crap about actually doing things, they just want documentation that it was done. Its the old quandary if you spend half of your time documenting what you do, you only get half of what you should be doing done or else your fudging. We have to do a lot of fudging. I hate fudging. I hate doing things to the letter and not the spirit of the guidelines.
I was also looking forward to a three day weekend of writing, but that looks to be filled with teenagers, errands, and the general wackiness of people who are too damn busy. My mood, as you can probably tell, sucks, which doesn’t help my writing either.
I have been listening to a tape of “On The Road” by Kerouac, and the reader is good at capturing Kerouac’s special lunatic wild heart. That has kept me somewhat sane. A little spontaneous weird wild moody poetry is good for my soul in this gloom. I am sure to find some brightness soon. The clouds will part and golden sun will make glorious summer of my winter of discontent. After all it is still fall. I must gird myself for the ice and snow to come.