A Laboured, Yet Ineffective Title.
Alrighty, it’s another one of those nighties… uh, heh—er. It’s another one of those night that I have nothing to write about, so I figured I’d jump on what just transpired.
Picture this: me, in sweatpants and a tank top sitting down going, “time to do the writing.” I see that my audio interface is still plugged in, so I grab the headphones and launch Spotify, to which my computer responds with: installing Spotify…
Like any rational adult, I was startled. I thought I had installed Spotify—so (again, like any rational adult) upon reading the pop-up message out loud, I asked my laptop flat-out, “what are you, a nerd?”
But luckily, we sorted things out and now I’ve got this playlist going, Road Trip to Tokyo. It’s full of driving music from Japan; driving in the literal sort, and tempo-based. It’s a good one to get my mind going, and to start… something. I don’t know, all these words are really just me trying to pull some sort of rip cord on the creative part of me today, but it’s not really happening.
It might be a case of bad timing though, I just finished watching a movie that really got my wheels moving. It had everything I like to think about: space travel, time dilation, aliens that talk about god, refugees from planet earth and on top of it all, it was a G.D. Godzilla movie. So yeah, I’m still coming down from that one—I love Godzilla, and to throw him into such a hard science fiction setting really lit up two decades worth of obsession of mine.
Good news for me, bad news for productivity: there’s a sequel. But, I have things to do tonight. Fudge and I are finalizing the last of our podcast series before we start recording tomorrow, and for me that involves creating the space for it on this here fatdogpod.com, and then the social media that comes with the territory. I think at this point I’m just procrastinating and waiting for artwork from him, but what I need to do, and have the power to do right now is secure an email address for all these. You know what? If I don’t do this now, it might not happen at all tonight. BRB, as the kids used to say.
This playlist has taken a downturn, it’d be great if I was leaving down on a misty Sunday morning, driving east into the sunrise—but I’m not, am I? I’m sitting in my bedroom trying to hold my wrists in a position that doesn’t cut off the circulation and risk some sort of freak writing injury while I sit in a chair just a few inches too short for this desk. C’est la vie.
My dad used to say that all the time, and I wrote it into a story once, but I’m still not one hundred percent clear on it’s meaning. He always used in it a, “well, whatever—I guess” sense, and it always worked.
I’m going nowhere with any of this.
What a colossal waste of time this has been!
I wish I had done it on a typewriter, so I had something to throw in the trash!
I joke, probably.
See you tomorrow.