Summertime Snooze

Once again, apologies for the lack of attention.

On second thought, no. No apologies. It is the summer. Everything slows down during the summer. And in Cairo's eyeball melting heat, I should be given blogger immunity. I can't be expected to have the energy to come up with fabulously exciting stories for you while cooling my forehead with a semi-cold Coke can that's dripping all over my already hot, sweaty and wet face, causing rivulets to tickle my itchy neck and soak my t-shirt.

It's August. In Egypt. Therefore, the above description is an understatement, to say the least.

Plus, I'm lazy. This leads to a complete lack of creativity juice in these tired brain veins.

I was complaining to Doolittle earlier today that although I do have ideas for proper pieces to write, I have zero discipline and focus to get me to sit down and physically bang them out. I've been rewriting the same lousy paragraph for two months now. Probably longer. And it isn't even particularly good, let along worthy of such attention. Now that I think about it, it even feels like a half-assed We Were the Mulvaneys knock-off.

I'm feeling extra demotivated with regard to writing because of the book I'm currently reading. The level of creativity some people enjoy is just mind-boggling. How do people come up with this stuff? My only contribution to fiction has been endless recycling of the same plot points, tone, style and characters in slightly different situations and sexes. Same depressive shit, different fillers. Even I'm bored of my penchant for morbidity.

I know I promised fun London stories, but I'm going to have to renege. I basically shopped, ate glorious junk and hung out with my family the entire time. The one time I bothered to try and see a friend was a disaster.

Babar was in London for the weekend the second week of my trip. We agreed to meet the Saturday morning for a meal. No problems there, right?

Wrong. Little did I know that this would be the ruin of the remainder of my trip.

Ask why. Go on.

Because the Eureka gods decided to leave their Cairo perches and pay me a visit in London that morning. Of course, this inevitably equates catastrophe.

As I ran to catch the bus, I slammed my right foot on the pavement. By some miracle, the gods decided to go easy on me by avoiding the final indignity of a sprawled lips-to-ground landing. Instead, I remained on my feet but hopping around - a scene straight out of Looney Tunes. The old lady I almost knocked over in the process did not find this amusing.

Never did end up seeing Babar due to the immediate and significant swelling of my foot. Still a little swollen and sore at the moment but I'm walking now.

Can't say the same about the last two weeks. but hey, at least I caught up on Eastenders.

Only Eureka, right?