And the world sounds wet on the outside, not to mention the photograph of Venice that hangs over my bed. Cars splash through the water left on the road after this morning's rain. But is that liquid possibility making itself known in my head? Trying to, even when I had to give up the bathroom again before I had my shower because Michelle can't be bothered to get up early when she works early. And trying to work on the rusty taps of my very own Ocean of Notions, O best beloved, is very hard indeed at the moment. I work and work at turning that Story Tap on (like Rushdie described it, invisible to everyone with a little man trying to work out the magical plumbing), and it's about bloody time it starts to hiccup ideas - no, not ideas, I have plenty of those. But I need to get the words running so I can finish this story for next week. While I like the story and when it comes it comes out fine, I'm feeling a little out of practice at writing for a deadline.
But go downstairs, and fill a container of macaroni and cheese with shrimp, onions, and green peppers, put it in a bag to take to work. Acclimatize yourself to the abrupt shift from first person to second person, sit down in front of the computer again, fingers on the keys. Breath is light, shallow, through your nose. Your nose sounds like it could do with a good honk. The house vibrates from road construction outside and slovenly bodies bumbling around inside. An electric saw cuts through metal. Stare at the screen. Decide on a first word.