When the muse doesn't come, sing
The muse is, rather ironically, ignoring me tonight. Not in the sense that I'm suffering from what I've rather tediously referred to in the past as writer's block; more accurately in the sense that I can't seem to find any real desire to work on the Muse manuscript this evening.
It's probably because I got little sleep last night. Sarah, bless her, is suffering from a nail bed infection (this is not, I should note, an infection gained from sleeping on a bed of nails), and as such struggled to find a position in which she was able to fall asleep. A trip to the doctor, resulting in a lanced nail bed, a course of antibiotics and a recommendation to take a cocktail of codeine and diclofenac sodium before bedtime should hopefully help with that tonight. For myself, lots of peppermint tea is probably the key.
I did think about finishing off a story that I started in Nero yesterday lunch time about a woman who wins someone's soul in a charity raffle, but I honestly don't think I could concentrate on it. Tonight, I think, is a night for music. I'm off to find a guitar.
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