It�s my first day back at a keyboard after returning from the mountains a week and a half ago. It�s my first day thinking anything at all in the form of the typewritten word. I�ve been afraid to begin writing. he old demon of self-doubt, I suspect. I�m ready, I think, to begin the process. So here I am, typing. George Bush is doing his little puppet dance in the background. After all, it�s September 12th. Time to begin new things. Celebrate life. Celebrate freedom. Celebrate corporate rule. So I write. I�m faced with all these new developments. I�m procrastinating in the resume department. I need to find a job. I haven�t even drafted the ol� resume yet. I haven�t actually created one since 1993. So I have much to add to it.

I had apocalyptic dreams last night. Bombs had begun falling on San Luis Obispo. I knew that they weren�t warheads. I think I knew that because my flesh was peeling from my body in fat, translucent curls. But it was frightening nonetheless so I tore myself up from the clutches of the dream, mumbled a few nonsensical syllables and dropped back into a dream about colored pencils. Perhaps that came about after watching two documentaries in a row last night about the events of last year. I caught the HBO doc, �In Memoriam� and the TLC doc, �Anatomy of the Collapse.� Kind of o.d.-ing on the 9-11 collections. I have no television, so the only real coverage I saw of the event was last year when it actually happened. After they were over I had to shake off a clingy depression, so I fired up the turntables for an hour or so.

Anyway, that was that. I�m thinking hard about two major things right now. Just two? I want to catalogue the new script ideas and get some thoughts arranged on just what I want to start writing. The other, of course, is that damned resume. It�s not that the resume itself is hard, it�s the implication behind it that is hard. I hate trying to sell myself. Maybe that�s because as a professional resume, it�s lacking something. Hmm�what could that be. A job history? I dunno. But maybe the fear comes from the uncertainty of the future.

Background noise: Miles Davis, Bitches Brew

About the author: will

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