What spins from writer's block

One thing I do when I'm too bored to even pretend to be inspired is I pretend to be a boy and I write they way a boy might, what his thoughts might be.

i was watching the water today, watched it come close, close enough to touch almost or if i wanted to. watched it slide away, away like everything else in this crazy, mad, spinning world. away like the girlfriend i have back in silver springs, new mexico, sitting on her porch, glass of lemonade, hand outstretched, always expecting me. when's a good time to say "never coming back". away like my dear, sweet mother, up north, rhode island where the lobster is best, waiting, waiting, for her only son to pull up in his rumbling car. can't ever say "never coming back," because don't we all go home at least once before we die? away like the fathers and grandfathers i no longer know, easy to say "never coming back" we aren't destined for the same afterlife, they are much better men than i, and here I am on the ocean, breathing salty air, and thinking of all the people i never treated right. what kinds of thoughts are these to be having, beautiful day, beautiful water, and nothing but sadness everywhere. in a minute i have to get up, have to return to the apartment i love, the only thing i've ever loved, i have to put a wall between me and this ever sifting sand, this ever shifting water. always building walls it seems.
there was a girl at the bar last night. she smiled the way i suspect all girls do, when they know that someone somewhere loves them. that "i like you but i like him too" secretive smile, where you feel let in, but really you are further from your goal then you'll ever really know. she talked about old streets in poland, and cell phones and a song on guitar and i found the juxtaposition enthralling or abrasive, can't remember now. annie. she wants a new name, wants one that screams originality, and i found that disturbingly cliché. I have her number, burning a whole in my back pocket, can't bring myself to throw it away.
i am a packrat of acquaintances it seems.

and

a few blocks from where i work is an apartment where i used to spend the free time i don't have anymore. it's an old one and if you take a tour of the city the guide will say it's haunted. i'm not sure it's true, spent enough drunk nights there to feel safe. safe enough. always safe enough.

the bottom of a tequila bottle has never seemed so promising as it does now. full of secrets i'll only know after one. more. shot. one. more. shot.

i've given you everything i've got.

i still love you more than anyone else could.

--end--

even I admit that I tend towards melodrama when I have nothing else to say. but a lot of something is better than nothing.


(t-minus 20 minutes and work will be over. inspiration waits at home or so I tell my self)

((have you ever noticed that sometimes dressing up (even if you only end up sitting on your couch) is the best way out of a dazy lazy afternoon rut?))