Nothing in particular

I am feeling writer's-blocky. Well, I would be if I were a proper writer. I'd be looking under the couch (Oh, look, the John Irving novel I lost in 2005) and amongst the dust bunnies in the spare bedroom for my Muse. If I had one. Instead I'm just sitting here, typing away, hoping something will just come. It's not that I have nothing to write about, it's just I feel like I can't write it.

I keep waking in the early hours of the morning, constructing blog posts, and then I get in front of my computer and, wham, gone. Or, not gone really, just slightly out of my field of vision, floating about, teasing me and pulling their tongues at me. It's most frustrating.

In the good news, though, I'm off to The Big Smoke on Friday to tickle those little babies's toes. This fills me with astounding amounts of joy. And I had a fabulous picnic in the park on Sunday to celebrate one of my best friends, M's, birthday. Champagne, strawberries, and lovely people in the sunshine - who could ask for more?

So yes, a bit of a waffle, without the waffles though... my waffle friend is over there, where my muse would be if I had one, they're hanging out together, on the periphery, which makes me miserable, but I don't want to talk about that.

I wonder if they sell muses on the internet?