Saturdays are often marred by a certain sense of togetherness. Perhaps “marred” isn’t quite the right word, but being a bitch and all and having a vocabulary, there it is.
Today, M. is often on his own to get his b’day present installed in his car. (Not the Thai hooker, she I returned.)
The idea is that I am out of excuses for procrastinating the book idea. Wish me luck as I delve into the pain and self loathing that is part and parcel of my writing persona. I mean seriously, don’t I suck?
By the way, and apropos nothing, I used a vibrating razor this morning. 
What the fuck is the need for something that vibrates that does not go in the vicinity of my hooha?
I went to a evening talk with David Milch -The writer behind Hill Street Blues, NYPD & mostly recently, Deadwood. He said write every day-for 20 minutes ! Just 20 minutes ! You get it into your body . He even advocated, not reading what you’ve written for the first week and just throw it out when you’re done and then start really writing. Bear in mind, I can’t do that for myself. Maybe you’re a little more motivated than me ? (I hope!)
perhaps some people enjoy having razor sharp implements flailing away around there nether regions might even cure the writers block scares the shit out of me so it does
veda