Stuck in a room. Bouncing off the walls.

When I mentioned "writer's block" yesterday, Linda looked at me in shock.

"You don't have writer's block!"

I just sort of smirked.

I'm not sure what I have. I just know I'm not writing.

I'm particularly stuck in my story, "Ruby Red and the Robot." I have my intrepid crew trapped in a room, with the robot outside. That's it. I can't figure out what to do next. Weird. I've been thinking about for a month and absolutely nothing comes to me.

I mean, I could have Antony tear away the walls and save them, but I wanted to introduce a new character.

So what is the reaction of my intrepid crew? What does the new character say? How does he enter?

Seems like it should be so easy.

Normally I'd go for a walk and try to come up with an answer, but I've been housebound for days. Tried walking yesterday but it was incredibly slippery and cold to boot.

I so want to get back to my routine. The doctors told me to take it easy, but damned if I'm going to stop walking. I'll have to convince them that's how I want to exercise. Dammit, tell them what the fuck I want, instead of just meekly accepting whatever they tell me. (Already saved myself $300 bucks a month on one of the new medications by asking for a substitute. Not as "good" apparently, but acceptable.)

The interesting thing about my "gut check" anvil-on-the-head moment is that it more or less confirmed that I've been on the right track. I'd been doubting the wisdom of not working my store for the last six years; but now I'm sure it was the right thing to do. Working until you die is pretty stupid. No one on their deathbed says, "Gosh, I wish I'd worked more."

I'm so thankful for the way my life has gone. The ten years of depression? In the anvil moment, I thought very clearly, "That sort of stuff just happens." The rest has been a bonus. I mean, how lucky can a guy get to direct the course of his own life, do what he set out to do (own a bookstore and be a writer) and marry the best woman in the world?

Yeah, so steady on.