Blocked, not writer's block

Isn't it typical, the first day of my novel project and I can't write. I had been planning to write during my lunch hour in work, and then for a few hours at home. Yesterday I was in a staff away day at a hotel, and then I had yoga in the night. I would normally have had time after yoga, but I was tired and hungover after seeing The School and The Hidden Cameras on Monday night (links in my sidebar). Had a great night. It included getting lost, giving piggybacks, and way too much beer. I danced all night.

So, back to reality. I'm starting writing properly today. Lucky I gave myself those three 'get out of jail' cards!

Found another cure

Apparently, drinking a fridgeful of cold beer works just as well. Whoop!

Thanks to Simon for going to the shop.

A 21st Century Galatea for gay boys

A tell-tale sign of movement. Black plastic. He marble statue in this dream, bottle of opulent; surfaces, all showing me the story of secret crush, then watch a picture for the leans out from graffiti for gay boys. I white wine has velvet drapes and shiny as my life. Waking and messaging. I dream the lips. Eyes glaze beneath come to life. We drink cold beer. The room is his reflection. Always. That is tardis. Dream-like state of message, seem to part and moisten, like a 21st Century Galatea; and dainty goblets of it will come to nothing.