Monkey

I can't seem to write tonight, even though there's a story perched on my shoulders, yanking my hair and poking me in the eye. After a week of strained schedules, depressing headlines and a spat or two with my spouse (mostly my fault, I'm afraid), it seems like so much trouble to force it onto the blank page. I could try to kill it, but stories are hardy things and like to hang in albatross fashion around one's neck long after their demise. Instead, I'll coax it off my back the old-fashioned way -- line after line and paragraph after paragraph.

(Picture: CC 2006 by Proggie)