Writer's block

I haven't been able to do anything new for the past couple of days. I blew the dust off of Indians Scattered on Dawn's Highway Bleeding to re-make/re-model it as an ebook, & maybe it's just that it's a bad story to begin with, but all that I was able to do was to edit it. When I went out with our Car-girl, Carmen (she wants laser-refracted eyes) she suggested just reading for a few days. Not a bad idea, actually; I'm still working my way thru LOTR, but it's also so difficult to do anything when Trish is around--though they've put her back on 3 hours a night 4 days a week, so tonight I'll have a few hours by myself.

She seems to be coming out of her depression--without Cymbalta, all it ever did was slur her speech--while I'm entering one, or it could be the cognitive deficits of schizophrenia. I just can't concentrate any more. I haven't heard from Ted lately, either, so I may call him. Our work is stalled out on just about everything now, plus I'm waiting to hear from Asimov's on "Trinities". I often wish I had a great big submarine to influence my creativity, which in NORML symbolism would really hurt the old asshole. If Asimov's does buy it, I'll probably be launched into a spiraling mania. Sometimes I wish that I could start cycling again, just so I could do something creative--but I'm sure the first low would lead to suicide.