The Bloody Doors Off

Wait, did you hear that?
Oh, this is sure stirring up some ghosts for me
She said, “There’s one thing you gotta learn
Is not to be afraid of it”
I said, “No, I like it, I like it, it’s good”
She said, “You like it now
But you’ll learn to love it later”

Somewhere Down The Crazy River, Robbie Robertson

There’s rumour in my father’s clan that we are related to Robbie Robertson.

Something he denies.

I have no skin in that game.

I just love this song.

It’s been in my head for two days.

So damned prevalent, it insisted on its own blog post.

‘Stirring up ghosts for me’

‘There’s one thing you gotta learn is not to be afraid of it’

How much of my life do I live in fear?

Afraid of the consequences, I take few bold actions.

And when I do (see the whole St. John’s Shorts thing), it tends to backfire.

Okay, it doesn’t always backfire. I took a chance when I received an email in 2017 telling me she made an excellent lasagne.

But when it does. I step back.

Play it safe.

Takes me a long time to get back to taking the next chance.

___

Why am I not writing?

I mean, yes, the blog counts.

But no plays.

For months.

No inspiration.

What am I missing?

Where’s the spark?

___

No, I am NOT writing a short play called Me and Robbie Robertson.

Lights up.

Paul: “I am not in any way related to Robbie Robertson. I enjoy some of his music.”

Lights down.

There, ya happy?

The shortest play I’ve ever written.

Now I’m thinking about the short piece I wrote, called Go Long.

It was a one and done.

I can’t even describe the plot. It was extremely meta, and involved both myself and Marlo.

Wrote it specifically for Sing For Your Supper.

Can’t bottle that lightning.

___

Had a quick, socially-distant visit with my friend MJ.

On the way back, on the streetcar, I had an uncontrollable urge.

To pick my nose.

Just rip off the mas, and dig.

Oh, c’mon.

You’ve done it.

Admit it.

___

Well, that was exciting.

Learned how to cancel an e-transfer.

Everyone should know this.

I’m boring now.