Under a Full Moon With Bugs

From a journal entry dated October 18, 2021

Write drunk. Edit sober.

Then blow your fuckin' head off with a shotgun.

I added the last part.

I came all the way here to write. Under a full moon with the waves making the most angelic white noise. Things are always different in our imaginations aren’t they?

Ride your bike for two hours. Sit down to get creative by the ocean. On the way you think of the masterpiece you’ll create. When you get there you take out your keyboard. The cute little Bluetooth one you bought on Amazon.

Lay out your pretty patterned blanket. Get your beverage ready by your side. The air is perfect. The world sounds so delicious.

Just start writing.

Then, get eaten alive. Your entire body itches. Your concentration is broken. There are no lovely thoughts. Primal fear switches on and now I’m obsessed with how I’m going to cake sea water and sand all over my body for the next eight hours so these little assholes leave me alone.

They bit me on the bottom of my foot. The soft part. Damn that shit itches when they bite you there.

Twenty more minutes. But I’ve decided to suffer tonight. Suffer for art; 'cause that’s whatcha do.

I called everyone today. Anyone who would listen. I peeled myself out of bed and now I’m in the world.

As always, it’s me and the mosquitoes.

Later that night...

Quite misery. Much annoyance. Let’s go trough the phone and call people I’ve been ignoring for months. People I didn’t have the time for. People I’ve scared away. Good people.

I came here to talk to God and I'm doing my best to avoid it. He waits patiently, but as his obstinate daughter, I must push our deadline back.

Twenty minutes. That’s all I need. Walk to the water. Call someone I probably hurt really bad. They deserve a call. I will get to the Lord when I’m done.

So the question now is: do I pee in the ocean or walk to the restrooms like a classy lady?