Normally this has not been an issue for me. Not really. I am pretty focused about some things and I like to work, but usually I can find a novel, or a shady patch near the river on a warm day and just drift. Usually at night too, on nights near the full moon, I can just pretend the human world is not as nastily mundane as it often is, but of late, well, no.

I got a Ludlum spy book from the library today in an effort to find something simply entertaining and remove myself from my query of “thing” and “imagination” but so far it is a no go. Talk about nasty and mundane – perhaps the world of spies was not the best choice of light reading material. What I really was waiting for was a novel called Starter for 10 by David Nicholls but although it is in transit to my library it has not yet arrived.  Oh well.

I have a god-daughter that believes in fairies so perhaps a trip to the bookstore for a gardening primer on butterfly plants? Did you know that fairies happen to like the same plants as humming birds and butterflies? Who knew?

I could go to a place where I know I’ll get into a silly “philosophical” argument with someone so that I can see them retreat into some form of “well I have the right to my opinion” stance. But that’s kind of mundane and mean so maybe that wouldn’t be any better than Ludlum is proving to be.

I could go see The Expendables and watch all the destructo-boys do their thing on the big screen. (Just thinking about it causes a suspicious tightening in my jaw so maybe not.)

I could just hang out and wait for TrueBlood to come on.

I could go outside and bead.

Too bad I’m not a drunk or a prescription addict. This wouldn’t be a problem.

Meh.

Maybe I’ll just go back to thinking about imagination. Funny that thinking about it in an abstract way is having a deleterious effect on its functioning. Would one consider that irony?