  Today I was intending&nbsp;to just sit around the house and write all day. I succeeded wonderfully at sitting. I did write, but not nearly as much as I wanted to. I knocked down about four pages, hopefully a couple more before I turn in. Pathetic. I hate to break this to you, but I really don't have much inspiration from today. My story was a vortex that consumed what little inspiration I could gather. Well, I guess inactivity really is when inspiration takes place. When something is happening you don't think of how inspiring it is. You decide that later on, looking back. So I really don't have an excuse not to write anything here.
I'll try and think of something. Hmm ... nothing new on the romantic front. Shoot, I discuss that stuff with so many different people I forget what I've said to whom and when I said it. Consequently, I don't know if I've posted anything about my recent shift in strategy? In a nutshell: I'm giving up. Not just on Greeneyes - I gave up on her the second time she rejected me. Well, probably before that, but I'll keep that private. Which is why I just wrote that. Anyway, I'm giving up on trying. In other words, I'm going back to my first strategy, which served me well for many years. Basically it's the kind of strategy that will prevent me from ever having to mess with romance as long as I stick to it.
It goes something like this: whatever stupid crush I develop on some stupid girl, I just keep it to myself. I don't do what I've been doing for&nbsp;the past&nbsp;year and tell her that I'm attracted to her. That's right, I'll never have a relationship unless some poor girl pursues me . The word never just jumped out at me.&nbsp;But I'll save myself from a lot of unnecessary pain.
I better comb through my past posts and make sure that I haven't already written something exactly like this. If so, this may or may not disappear from the record. But you never know ... it might amuse me to have two very similar posts.&nbsp;So I'll probably leave it anyway. While I'm trying to fatten this post, I might as well throw in another excerpt from today's labors: &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Anyway, after I had taken in my first view of the city, I began making my way down the hill toward the outskirts.
The buildings out here were mainly houses, most with light streaming from the cracks of doors and windows, all locked up and hiding from the world. Other than the crunch of my footsteps on the dirt path, the only sounds I heard were the muffled protests of children who were fighting to stay out of bed, matched only by their parents, who fought back just as vehemently.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;One house was different, I remember. Light fell across the road in front of my feet, causing me to look up at the source. It was just a few candles shining through an open window, but compared to the darkness outside the glow was brilliant. I was struck by the open window: it had to be the only open one I had seen yet. Unable to resist, I glanced inside -&nbsp;I caught a momentary glimpse of a man sitting beside a bed. Tucked beneath the covers was a small boy, obviously the man’s son. Just as I turned back to the dark road before me, I became aware of a soft voice singing.
The father was singing over his sleeping son. I was suddenly aware of a stirring deep within me, a yearning for something I had thought I could never have again. I became tired, so weary that I felt like sitting down then and there. Better yet, I felt like going up to that open window and asking the man to open the door and let me in.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I kept walking. &nbsp; By the way, the setting is basically a fictional version of 18th century Britain. Just thought you'd like to know.
And I don't know how much of this story I should post on here. I mean, it's not like it's going to get published or anything, but there's always the chance that&nbsp;I could get ripped off. Tell you what, if you're interested in reading this when it's done, send me an email. &nbsp; urlLink freakish_midget@hotmail.com 
