Writers Block

Home Alone

It is Sunday night, your mom is on the phone with Sally (I guess they forgot to say something over the past two days in Peoria and here I am, trying to be a literary giant, but failing miserably due to writers block (which afflicts even the most verbose writers from time to time), a condition which (hopefully) will be short-lived if transient, which it commonly is unless there are interruptions due to outside events or, more commonly, an incidence of attention span disorder (ADD), which has been known to crop up at the most inopportune times, especially when I am talking to someone and something else distracts me or attracts my attention, then I have to consider this outside event, failing, then, to pay close attention to whatever it was I was doing or whatever the other person was attempting to accomplish by having intercourse with me ( not sexual but communication) and therein often needing to repeat what they said, sometimes with exasperation, especially if it was your mother, then I reel off a list of things she said, often doing it in reverse order and that, of course, makes her mad, so she stalks off and I get to figure out dinner all by myself which is OK since then I can make salmon patties and asparagus from the can plus some white onion and maybe, if I am really ticked off, some corn bread so I can have cornbread and milk later with some more white onion all of which causes me to lose sleep because of esophageal reflux, brought on in part because my ingrate son-in-law no longer provides me with drugs.

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Love you all,
Dad