My weekend was exhausting. Not so much physically demanding as it was a monstrous mental drain.
I’d had another Henry James story running around in my head for almost a week. I knew if I didn’t get it out old Henry would do what he normally does when I ignore him.
Let’s just say I like my eight hours of uninterrupted sleep at night.
But dammit I was really tired. I was struggling to get the story down.
Can you folks keep a secret?
I really wanted to play hooky. I didn’t feel like firing up any of the sixteen thousand computers we have at the house.
Hey, I have a side hustle in the IT industry. I think it’s a mandate or something.
But I still had this Henry James story banging about in my head. Frankly, I was scared to not write it. Even though they won’t tell me I think Henry and that chick writer he pals around with both carry guns.
I think if I refused to write the story one or both of them would probably shoot me.
Oh P.G. you’re going to ignore our happy ass are you? Then prepare for the worst night you’ve ever had. You think those three AM feedings with the girls was torture?
Well buckle up buttercup.
Sunny? Lock and load.
We’re about to kick this dude’s ass.
See what I mean? I told you. Those two could put some serious hurt on my butt.
Suffice it to say I barely had enough juice to finish Henry’s story. Once completed, I sat rubbing my burning, itchy eyes, wondering if I even had enough strength to get out of my chair and go upstairs.
I’m pretty sure I don’t have to tell you folks how exhaustive it is cranking out fresh material every, single, freaking, never-ending, need-a-break, Calgon-take-me-away, my-head-is-exploding, day.
Damned hardest work I’ve ever done.
Today, trying to write something is like exorcising a story from my brain by yanking gray matter out my nose and ears and smearing it on paper.
Ugh, now that’s just disgusting. Did I actually say that?
See what I mean? I’ve become a blathering idiot.
I don’t think I can do this today.
And so without much (not further — I can’t let you folks off the hook that fast) ado, I’m tossing in the towel, tapping out, at least for today.
Today I’m not going to allow stories to run amuck in my head, nor will I read and write anything except emails at my side hustle. Even for those I’m going for the monosyllabic approach.
Them: Have you had a chance to review the slide deck we sent you? Do you have any questions?
Them: Could you please be more specific? You haven’t reviewed it or you don’t have any questions?
I’m going to hold my breath as long as I can while I flounder beneath this pressing volume of exhaustion. Hold it just long enough in hopes I’ll make it to the surface and break through so I can breathe again.
I just can’t do this today. I’m so totally out of gas.
Wait, what’s that?
Sunny Alexander has fallen into a well and can’t get out?
It’s a torrential downpour and the water level in the well is rising?
Oh Mylanta, whatever will Henry James do?
Will he be able to make it in time?
Can Sunny hold on long enough for Henry to get there?
Tune in same time, same channel, for the next episode of:
P.G. Barnett losing his mind as he attempts to write another Henry James story.
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