July Sweeps - Day 543

Well, I'm back at the cabin.  I've gotten no writing done today, but I will.  That idea I got last night is worth at least five hundred more words.  

It was extraordinarily rainy today on the way to the cabin, to the point where I had to drive fifteen miles per hour in a 65, and turn the wipers up to their most frenetic, and the vehicles ahead of me were shooting up sprays of water off the highway that were ten feet high.  The rain was astounding, even heavier than it was last week, when the road flooded and my brother's neighborhood tried to wash itself away.  I suppose that means good things for the drought at least.

It also meant darkness and cold came early, and I didn't come close to recording the song I had planned since the week before.  At the lake there were a record five boats out and about (or oat and aboat, if you're Canadian.  Or a boat).  I got to a spot where the water level was low enough that nobody was boating or fishing, and only then realized I hadn't brought the tripod to put my phone on.

I had even worn my favorite shirt (for the first time this year).

It was my uncle's shirt, who died in 1990, and eventually I grew enough that it fits me, and it has never worn out.  It's so beautifully Eighties that people often claim it was patterned on the title sequence for "Saved By The Bell."

Still, I did my running, then my traditional wander-around-trying-to-get-a-wi-fi-signal, and watched a YouTube video, then ran back to the car around the time it was getting too dark to run and the owls were hooting out in the woods again.*

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In July: 2849

I said I would write five hundred words today.  But now it's midnight, and I'm still at zero.  This could be it, sweetheart, as the man said.

"And some days it don't come easy, and some days it don't come hard; 
Some days it don't come at all, and these are the days that never end."
                                                                                              Meat Loaf

They say, if you write when your imagination is on fire, and you write when the words are coming so slowly it's like milking a cucumber,** after it's all put together, no one will be able to tell which parts were inspired and which parts were sweat-work.  But it's little consolation tonight.

But hey, few words are better than none, technically.

I did push-ups and did sit-ups tonight, and both of those should be harder than writing, but I guess the muscles are different.

Push-ups Today: 100
Push-ups In July: 2930

It's the end of another month, and one of my goals for July was to finish my Lara and th--"When You Need It Most," I have to remember that that's the title (as awful as it is).  Well, I'm not going to achieve that, but I never expected it to be this long anyway.  I hope me from a month ago is proud of me, still keeping it going, even on nights like tonight (when I don't want to do it).

That reminds me, last August, I recorded a podcast where I asked myself questions (on August 2nd, 2020) that I intended to answer on December 2nd, and then changed my mind and decided to answer them in a year, on the first or second of August, 2021.  I think the questions were about the pandemic, and writing every single day, and a certain long-gone girl.  I very nearly sat down to record the second half of that interview right now, but there's no chance I would get any words tonight, if I did that.  Still might not.

Words Today: 403
Words In July: 24,280

*Honestly, they're like an alarm clock or something for me now.

**The science is a little off on this one.