Random Friday Night Thoughts in the Burbs

Housesitting at Mike's, with the dogs and the cats and the garage and the snowbanks higher than my head. Had this moment yesterday when I started to panic, realizing that since getting back from the residency nearly a month ago (where the hell did that time go, I ask you? a blur of snow and cold peppered with drunken nights with the Stonecoast crowd, all of us just trying to survive until warmth returns to this godforsaken state), I have yet to write more than five damned pages in a row on that goddamn thing I like to call The Novel.

So, yesterday went into full resolution mode. Put away my Alias DVDs, stashed all Buffy paraphernalia, got out my Ellis Paul CDs and my go-to when writer's block sets in: The Last Good Kiss. Reveled for a while in the wonder that is Crumley, thought about getting myself a hard-drinkin' bulldog, and set to work.

Now, twenty-four hours later, I'm happy to say that the writer's block is - knock on wood, spin three times, spit into the wind and toss some salt over my shoulder for good measure - past. Got twenty pages done between last night and today, figured out who I needed to kill next and why they had to die (ah, the power of the novelist), and even managed a line or two that could pass for pretty fair prose. Then trudged through a fresh dusting of snow along the Back Bay this afternoon, and got back to find a fresh email from Dom, of the stylin' glasses and crooked grin. A good day, all the way around.

And what am I doing to celebrate? Well, I'm sitting in my brother's basement with Harvest the Dog snoring softly at my feet and Moon the Wonder Mutt settled in a snowbank outside (her preference), listening to U2, sorting postcards and - of course - writing this. The U2 thing is new... Well, not new, because of course once upon a time I was infatuated with them, but it's been renewed of late, and I'm not entirely sure why. When I was a kid, I got The Joshua Tree on vinyl for Christmas one year - my first rock n' roll album. I listened to it until I nearly wore through the grooves, obsessed with One Tree Hill (a much better song than that godawful show on the WB).

Now, listening to the CD, I'm reminded of sitting with Mike in his unheated bedroom (mine was unheated, too, but he had a better record player and a miniature pool table), shivering, shooting pool with tiny plastic cues and drinking root beer while Bono sang about wars we didn't know the first thing about. Yeah, we were bad-ass. My brother's basement office now has more pictures in it than my entire apartment: Mike and I in footed pajamas under the Christmas tree back in 1978, shots of Mike with baby Katie in his arms, Mike with his high school buddies reunited for a recent trip to Foxwoods... I think back to those days in his room, before boyfriends for me or girlfriends for him, before the folks got divorced, before we had any idea life might have some obstacles in mind rather than just letting us take over the world unimpeded. And I can't help but wonder...

What the hell happened to that pool table?

Because I think it would make a good addition to my apartment now, and I bet it's stashed in the back barn someplace at mom's. I'll have to check that out.

Okay, that's it. That's my post, those are my deep thoughts, think of them what you will. I have now done my duty as the less-productive half of this extraordinary blogging experiment, at least for this week.