on (not) writing and other miscellany

If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write.

Stephen King, On Writing

It's true. I took a job, and two dogs and my days were no longer all my own. There were new demands on my time and body and the first thing to go was the reading. Soon, I lost interest in writing, and although it bothered me when I'd fall into bed each night, I also didn't see any way to do it any better.

So, I let it go.

And waited for a new season to unfold.

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Want to stir the pot and watch fur fly? Decide you don't want to be Facebook friends with your best friend's ex after all. Never mind that it is an New Media relationship of little consequence. Just announce that you aren't comfortable reading his status updates and he'll get real offended like. Because you are mean. It would be funny if it wasn't sad, the anger so frightening.

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I went to an acupuncturist for the first time on Sunday evening. On paper, I'm a wreck. On paper, I am pathetic or so it seems to me. We broke down my broken body, and got to work, my body covered in needles. It's my last resort I've been holding in my pocket, for when it gets to be too much. I have high hopes.