Hello Thursday (observations of a day)

What do you have in store for me today? I woke up in my usually usual sad-ass state of mind, so just about anything that happens after that has got to be an improvement.

Here’s what I should do today: Vacuum, laundry, scrub a couple of small floors, exercise, plan excellent meals with only healthy ingredients, get out in the sunshine, clean up my porch. And write oodles of pages on my new WIP.

Here what I will do: Write a page or two, maybe. Oh, and submit another blog post. Yeah, this one. Here.

What is it about life that stymies me? I look out the window of my office in my apartment, and I can see the busy street of a very small suburban town on the outskirts of Los Angeles. I wouldn’t exactly call it bustling. The Village of Claremont and its multitude of colleges is not a bustling kind of place. More like a tortoise than a hare. Which is to say that things do happen here, just not very quickly.

Back to life. And Thursdays. Why is Thursday important? I don’t know. Just happens to be the day we’re in at the moment. And I have promised myself to write a couple of blog posts a week. To keep the energy flowing. I am a writer, after all.

Across the street, it’s gardening day at the Claremont Manor. The lawn mowers fill the air with the never-ending hum of grass cutting. Now “Claremont Manor” sounds ritzy, doesn’t it? It’s a retirement community, and an expensive one at that. Takes up a long city block, north and south, east and west. Its visitors include at least two ambulances a day and their accompanying fire department vehicles—small two-person truck and a ladder truck, because heaven knows you might have to climb up to the second floor, and finding the stairway blocked, what do you do? Call in the ladder!  Which brings up a question which has bothered me for some time now. Why do they send a minimum of three vehicles and six or seven personnel to a trip-and-fall incident?

Well, hopefully I’ve primed the pump now. Time to get back to the book eking its way slowly out of my soul. Perhaps next time we meet, I’ll wax philosophical. Or I will offer sage advice on the writing of novels. Or maybe I’ll just ramble on like I did this time.