It’s a warm, listless Wednesday afternoon in late September, the sort of après-midi one would expect from an early Spring. The time is four thirty. I am in repose on the living room couch, dressed in a bear hat and Peter Alexander underwear. In my headphones are the plaintive tones of Sarah McLachlan, as if her saturnine lips were pressed against my ears, spilling their tales of jilted love.
I’ve a slight buzz from two glasses of Tullochs verdelho and I’m more than a little sleepy.
This is how my blog begins.
It seems like a good time for it. I imagine these are the very same conditions under which Lord Byron wrote She Walks in Beauty, though of course he wouldn’t have typed it on a 13-inch Macbook Pro. He’d most likely have penned the timeless sonnet with one hand while making love to a woman with the other, cigarette still readily poised between his index and middle fingers.
Not that I am not about to draw any serious comparison between this newly-minted blog and the poetry of Lord Byron. That would be absurd. I myself am not nearly so ambidextrous while working; my left hand can manage the wine glass and my iPhone. To sexually gratify another human being would require my undivided attention, which is where Byron distinguishes himself as the finer author.
Now, you won’t ordinarily find me musing half-naked and half-drunk in the middle of the week. I should make that clear. I happen to be on annual leave at the moment – precisely halfway through it, in fact, which is why I carefully arranged to be precisely half-naked and half-drunk, and not a fraction to either side. There’s a careful method to it all which the untrained eye might not otherwise observe.
For the rest of the break, I’ve set myself a vague calendar of days to work (on my book, the website, the band) and days to do absolutely nothing. These are every bit as strict – I hate feeling unproductive, and unless I’ve given myself permission in advance, I feel terribly guilty if a day goes by without some visible, quantifiable result.
The last week, I’d say, has been fruitful. Jess and I spent most of it feverishly hammering the website into shape and adding content to get it rolling. Jess’ role is considerably more difficult than mine; she’s the web designer, who spends hours poring over lines of HTML code to perfect the tiniest detail, while I’m the guy who writes obnoxiously wordy blog posts in his underwear and sends text messages at all hours saying, “Hey, are we sure we like that font?”
And she manages to work full-time and complete her tertiary studies. She may even be able to multitask like Byron, I don’t know.
As for the book – well, I’ll get back to you on that one.