Willing

Writing is a lot like sex.

Now, before I attempt to draw analogies, let me say that I know this is not a new idea, as very few based in something approaching reality are, and add that it is too early in this piece to go off on a tangent.

Consider: After the interlude, one says, "That felt good. I must do that again, soon." And, although one has that intention, things happen to forestall (hence, "interlude"), and the longer that period lasts, the more diminished the need to act becomes. Mind you, when I was a young lad, I could fuck in my sleep. Now, I mostly dream, whereas I have a distinct memory not too long after the first "Star Wars" movie of doing a nurse co-worker while envisioning a legless robot.

Motivations change in response to abilities.

I am now left with the feeling that I have shot my wad, perhaps too soon, and having resorted to cliché as well, leave both the reader and myself wanting. Were it night, it might be convenient to roll over and excuse the awkwardness by feigning exhaustion. True, I am still waking up, the second cup of joe not yet finished, so there might be that. Idle chatter fills the void.

No, what we hope to hear is something quite different.

I need a shower.