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We all know the old saw, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”, but in my case “and turbocharged by a propensity for procrastination” should be added to the end. I’ve been promising to do a bit of writing and for the life of me I can’t seem to get off my pencil and push this through to completion. I have oodles of excuses; some of them even valid ones, but the fact remains that the job is not finished. It’s not even a big job, but it’s one that will require me to rub more than a few brain cells together to stimulate synaptic nerve impulses to get at the creative stuff in the back. Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to try to get warm too. It’s been unseasonably cold here in Blaine. Whatever the cause, my hesitancy to perform is winning this battle of the lazy brain vs. the artists bio.

I need a nudge, a hot black dark kona coffee nudge. So far it’s not working.
So far I’m blocked.
Seattle traffic on Mariner baseball night blocked.
Folk festival Seattle center blocked.
Entrance denied. Blocked.
Go home and rethink your life. Blocked.

Part of the problem is that I need to do some research so that I understand the topic. I’m not terribly familiar with the blues, the art of creating blues music, and the artistic influences that push the genre forward every forty years or so. It’s a musical genre that doesn’t die, but goes into hibernation every so often to come back renewed and vigorous. Like the human condition it evolves with our emotions to be more complicated, more emotional and more essentially us. The blues, as I understand it, is a compilation of your hopes, your fears, your joys, and woes, all your emotional baggage, all mashed up into a coherent melody of life.

Part of the problem is that I’m still in vacation mode and can’t seem to come back to reality and the work that I have waiting for me here. I just want to drive down this road again to the beach and jump into a cool clear pool of fresh water under the noonday sun.
Is that so wrong?

Maybe not, but this mental masturbation isn’t getting my project any closer to the gate, and this dogs gotta run now, or it’s too late for this race. I can daydream about how I wish my backside was sitting on a black sand beach under a palm tree, barbecuing fresh Ahi and sipping a cold Hawaiian golden ale later when the projects done.

I may be working on hawaiian time, but I’ll get er done, I promise.

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