My Gigli...

Am I that desperate or either that LAZY for dialogue for the play that I'm writing that's due in March that I was interested in watching Jersey Girl to copy the flow of WHAT EXACTLY?

Clever pitter-patter?

Verbose blargh?

Poo diatribe?

God. Shoot me. The best bits of me today have been scatterred like Skittles across the minutes of this weird mess of a day. I mean, I couldn't even communicate properly w/ the girlfriend at the supermarket. I grunted and pushed the cart around.

Maybe that's it. Maybe REAL writers DON'T go to the supermarket AND DON't have the TV on like I do right now. Maybe REAL WRITERS don't write on blogs named after the first thing that one saw in the fridge. Maybe the fact that Ben Affleck's voice is a sneeze's spray away from me - is the reason why I don't deserve to write more tonight.

One does not receive the keys to the kingdom when one writes a sentence about keys to the kingdom. Tell me that you just didn't look at the TV screen again, man.

Say it's over, man...

Say it.

Okay...IT.