Pantomime

Well, it was all going along so promisingly. On Day Two of the surgical removal of the suckful from my life (mind the organs, you never know when they will need to prove their worth) I outdid my day one effort. 32 (handwritten) pages of New Light Shine and the end of Act One. Oh, the parades, the adoration. If only I knew what lay at the end of a hard day's work. Oh wait … none of that happened - apart from the 32 pages. So, I guess that was good enough. Oh no it's not, I hear you say - because I'm convinced that deep down I'm living in a pantomime, oh yes I do. ('It's behind you, it's behind you!" "What?" "Your arse!") No, it's alright. I'll wait until you're done laughing.

Done? Okay then. You sure you don't need more time. Alrighty. Just asking.

If my 32 pages weren't enough (and really, it's not like I solved the wonders of lung cancer here even though the exhaustion that comes with creation should never be underestimated) I made a start on typing the soon-to-be-declared masterpiece. Victory! … Or something close to it.

Suck O Meter for Sunday: 3

And then … And then … This is the quiet moral part of the pantomime so gather in close if you want to learn something from this ridiculous form of theatre - set my alarm to get up this morning and continue work on soon-to-be-declared masterpiece and what the hell happens? Yes, the evil sleep monster came and stole my early morning away. Okay, enough with the pantomime. No need to scream it. And it's my life so there is never any lovely moral to sew into the tail.

Suck O Meter: 11. Oh yes. Don't try and tell me I'm being melodramatic. It's my Suck O Meter.

Let's see if we can improve it slightly by nights end.