I'm blocked. It happens.
I was never a fan of free writing. Much better at freethinking. It's very difficult to capture all those wondrous ideas fleeting in and out of my head because most of the time I'm under the covers searching for sleep. All those thoughts, and they were good ones, are probably gone eternally. Nothing stays in my head too long, unless I read it somewhere, then it never leaves.
My mom gave me a book the other day, The Treehouse. I've only made it past the introduction and already I know my creative being will be changed. I'll explain in more detail at a later date. Hopefully when I'm unblocked.
Until then, kid news.
Two doctors appointments today. The Monster and Sugarbaby. More problems with his skin, more steroid creams that I'll try not to overuse for fear of damaging his reproductive organs and sending him into puberty by age 9. Shots for Sugarbaby. Heartbreak for Mom having to hold her precious self down for pain. Don't mothers hurt enough without subjecting our children to things such as this?
Today Cashman told me he loved me and hated me all in the same sentence. I wonder where he got that. I'm guessing his moody older brother. But he also counted to 15, told his dad his age was 26, that mommy was 16, and that he was 18. I like this kid more and more.
I'm off to have a drink, ignore the football game, and hopefully glean something inspiring from this book. Be back soon.