Brain is frozen. Once again I have nothing. This is a familiar tune, and I know you've heard it before. Could it be the pressure to come up with something? Yes, it could be that, alright. Maybe I have been reading my book for too long today. Intimidated by a man whose book is now a Penguin Classic. Could that be it? But why am I still sitting here sweating at 10:42pm (it's 29 degrees Celsius! or 84 degrees Fahrenheit!) trying to come up with something? I have been sitting here since 9:50, I'll admit it. Well, somehow I turned into a zombie. The only difference I don't feel like eating brains. But at least if I went out eating brains I could come back and have something to write about. ... If you are still reading, it must be because you are an optimist and are expecting something to happen. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I still have nothing, and there is nothing on the horizon. Wait! No, its only vultures lazily circling.
10:54pm and the only idea I had was to walk five paces to the fridge to get another beer.