Since Monday, I’ve had the apartment to myself while my wife is having a mega-needed vacation with her sister and sister’s granddaughter, following a year of hell. I was unable to get this week out of work, as I just had 2 weeks out, and much is happening right now. So brief background: I’m from England, my wife is from the US, and after we fell in love, it took another year and a half of immigration paperwork & waiting before we were allowed to be together. That was eight years ago, and I have been clinging to her leg ever since. Not a day goes by in which I don’t enjoy the hell out of her company, marvel that I scored her, or laugh because she is freakin hilarious. We’re not accustomed to being apart, and neither particularly relished that specific aspect of the idea of this week. But anyway – it was happening, so what was I to do but plan to make good of my evening solitude for the next 5 days. I was going to A) attain full Zen / GodHead / Nirvana. B) Finish a 20K novella I started writing last week. C) Get another ~ 15 – 20 pages done on the script and D) Cook ,walk, exercise, play some Spanish guitar each day, get an oil change, etc etc etc.

But I wasn’t duly prepared for how mopey I was going to feel when Adrienne wasn’t around. The place sucks without her, I don’t feel like doing any of that stuff, I’m uninspired, and work was busier than anticipated, so I’m also pretty tired by the time I get home.

So instead of the above plans transpiring, I have: Eaten too much take-out food, watched about nineteen episodes of Hell’s Kitchen, finished a big tub of mint choc chip ice cream and a bottle of chocolate sauce, and almost moped a hole right in the hardwood floor.

Big revelations: I’m a baby who doesn’t function well without my other jigsaw piece. I love love, this is why I have drifted over the years from writing horror / horrendous material to writing light hearted romantic comedies. It takes a loooooong time immersed in your own world to write a novel. When I would spend that time in a horrendous world, my sunny disposition began to duck behind clouds. But when I spend it in a love story without any real pain or danger involved, I feel good. Pretty basic emotions 101; Laughing = Good. Terror = Every cell in your body is afraid, and concurs that you need to escape this situation STAT. Maybe this is why so many horror writers are weird, and the cynics & realists commit or attempt suicide. (Sylvia Plath, Kurt Vonnegut, Robert E. Howard, Hunter Thompson…)

I actively avoid and reject reality – it’s better for my mood.

Whaddya YOU fink about that? Leave a comment!

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