Too Late the Phalarope

Found this book while doing some spring cleaning... It's been years since I've read it.

What the phalarope actually has to do with this blog entry is debatable. It's a small, sleek shore bird that, if Alan Patton is to be believed, can be found in South Africa. In other words, it has nothing to do with it.

But it IS too late. I ought to be sleeping since I think I may be, once again, on the brink of getting sick. Which reminds me:

At the event of my grandfather's 90th birthday (!) this week, a cousin's significant other asked what was happening musically, and I was sort of horrified to find that I was giving him the same answer as I had last time I saw him--a year ago. He raised an eyebrow and commented that if we don't use a gift, the Muse will take it away. I'm hoping the Muse just has a little more patience, because after a year of working a job that devoured my personal life, I'm finally at the point where I can begin to reaquaint myself with the people I care about, and begin to write again.

I feel as though I'm starting over in many ways-- I'm desperately hoping that I don't have to go through the long period of exceedingly sucky writing in order to produce anything worthwhile again.

Challenges:
1. tune your damn piano
2. restring your dusty guitar
3. write something decent enough that you're not tempted to gnaw off your own arm rather than read/listen to it.

Ha. We'll see how that goes. Seriously, though... I'm actually optomistic.