The Waste Land

Okay, this is harder than I thought it would be. I am out of practice when it comes to writing anything longer than an email, and worse, out of practice when it comes to making myself do anything I really don’t have to do (a pitfall once your children are grown and gone). I think about writing way more than I actually do any writing because I have new rituals for my spare time that don’t include it.

After work today I went to a lecture, came home, made dinner, ate, and took the dog for a walk. It was 8:30 by then. I wasted the next hour and a half doing absolutely nothing but chilling in front of the TV. There wasn’t even anything on I really wanted to watch, but I ended up at GAC listening to new country artists do old George Jones songs and flipping over to HGTV at commercials. I could have watched Keith Olbermann or Rachel Maddow, but honestly, I have to take a break from the political scene sometime.

Anyway, after wallowing in sad country songs for way too long, I came upstairs, got ready for bed, let the dog in and brushed him, then answered a few work-related emails. Now here I am, too tired to write a clever blog. This is the point in the evening when I play a computer game, then go to bed with a good book and read 5-10 pages before falling asleep.

Only I don’t have a good book. I have a mediocre book. It’s one of Russo’s, and I love Russo, but Mohawk is not one of his best. I have to check tomorrow at B&N on campus to see if maybe they have Stieg Larsson’s second book.

And I have to get some new rituals.