“Write about yourself” says Herself.
“Your best stuff is when you write from the heart.”
I’m not quite sure what she means by this, especially as sometimes she says I haven’t got a heart. Maybe she wants me to write romantic prose on the style of the Bronte Sisters or Barbara Cartland? Not a chance. I don’t go in for all that mushy stuff. I prefer to write what’s in my head and not just from an organ that pumps blood around the place.
My head isn’t in a very good place at the moment. In fact I’m not sure where it is. Thoughts are racing through my mind and none of them are making much sense or even going anywhere. I type a sentence, look at it and ask myself why the fuck did I just write that? [Why the fuck did I just write that?] In other words I am happily playing host to The Black Dog.
I don’t know why they call it The Black Dog? Personally I consider it an affront to the entire canine species, and with the exception of those small yappy yokes, dogs are generally affectionate and a pleasure to have around the place.
Talking of dogs, I gave our Penny a lovely juicy lamb bone earlier. She launched into it with great delight and gusto but suddenly asked to go out. She was out there for ages eating grass to beat the band and probably puking her ring up behind the bushes. She is now curled up on her chair looking miserable so maybe she is now suffering from The Black Human?
Yes, the Black Dog is contagious. Some get angry and some go quiet. I tend to go quiet and wallow in my misery as does Penny so we are both quarantined to the back of the house where we won’t infect anyone else. But the Interweb is my escape route from quarantine so here I am infecting all my readers. Sorry about that.
Apparently That Whose Name Shall Not Be Mentioned [i.e. The Black Dog] comes in two forms – reactive and endogenous. That’s one of the side benefits from playing poker with Doc – I learn all sorts of things. I’m not sure which I have at the moment. There is a cold wind blowing outside so it may be reactive but there was a cold wind yesterday [with no side effects] so it may be endogenous.
It doesn’t really matter anyway.
Now that I have written about him, the fucker has buggered off