I do things that make the man on the moon blush.

I had a story festering for weeks. It was like that dead animal you pass on the road everyday on the work commute. Nobody comes and cleans it. It just becomes less and less. On Tuesday, it's minus some lungs then the next day half a face and less and less flies because there's nothing else for scavengers to eat. Birds swoop in to peck at fur and pebbles.

That was my story, roadkill. Now it's something. A draft, 600-ish words. It's the bear in the cave, head parallel to a skid of flint. Just resting. It's about a man who transports livestock and poultry to slaughterhouses across the country. 

Exciting isn't the word to describe the narrative, but it is the word to describe how I feel to be writing a piece of fiction again. I feel like that widow who's giving sex another chance.

**

There are times when you just need to sit there. Maybe you're brushing your cat, maybe you're at working pushing buttons or tuning a guitar or reading the Bible. I don't know. But you need to just stop and think.

I did this today and realized that I'm happy right now. At this very moment, I'm happy. You need to remind yourself of this because math and talking and shaking hands are just going to muddle things. 

**

I'm thinking about growing a fu manchu. Should I?