Well, the drama llamas have been in residence at chez moi for a while now which has left me feeling subdued even if they are not. I’m struggling to write more lyrics for FAWM and the last one, Bechstein’s Bat, seemed to blur the line between lyrics and poetry… but then I’m probably more of a poet than a lyricist anyhow.
I feel somewhat like I should be drawing on the emotions somehow to produce some great works of literature, or even some teenage-angst bullshit (which at the age of twenty-eight is always a tad depressing) but either the emotions are too close or I just lack the energy to care any more. Of course, no one really needs to hear my woes in written form or otherwise anyway but still, I feel I’m missing a trick.
At least the llamas are going out tonight. Bugger the snow, bugger the cold, we’re taking our llamas for a walk. I just hope they behave themselves.