That makes 'bout as much sense as anything i say so strap in junior space cadets, it's gonna be a bumpy ride! Y'see, i'm supposed to be writing a story for all the whelps and whippersnappers at the community Easter Egg hunt this weekend. Believe you me, there is no audience tougher than a half-a-hundred ADDelightful little bundles of joy looking for a sugar high with nothing between them and their quarry but a scruffy little story teller who's supposed to point 'em to the redemption story without ever actually mentioning the redemption story. i have one hundred and fifty hours or so left to write it in, minus the forty-plus hours i'm supposed to be at work, (and if my boss had his way the plus would be more than the forty) the ten hours i'll spend commuting, the eight and a half hours i'll spend sleeping this week, (trying to get a little more than last week.) Can't really count dinner times, so there goes another five hours. The vast majority of the day after work is wasted because i am. So all told it comes to about an ... hour and twenty-five minutes in which to write and commit to fairly faulty memory the entire enchillito. And those eighty-five minutes are scattered here and there over the next quickly sliding by five days, but who's counting?
i'd really be worried about all that if i thought that the story actually came from me. But my stories, my really good ones anyway, yes, i do sometimes have really good ones, even a blind nut finds a squirrel now and again, feel more like they are 'revealed' to me. i'm more or less a pen in the Spirit's hand. Now, i don't think the Holy Ghostwriter has writer's block so i can only assume that He's holding out on me for some reason or another. That's the problem with being partnered up with the divine. The divine has panache. Me, i have panic. i'm playing Will to His Captain Jack and He's waiting for the "Opportune Moment, mate."
Something tells me that i got more to learn than the gaggle of gigglehoppers waiting for me on the other side of this week. Just a hunch.