“I’m dying for some action/I’m sick of sitting ‘round here trying to write this book” – the boss Blaaaaaah. Blah blah blah! Hell damn shit! Fuck! Stupid! Bunny! Puppy! Kitties! Lalalalalala! Okay I got that out of my system. My grandpa moans in his sleep (well actually it’s up for debate whether he’s actually asleep or just sleepy when he says his trademark lament) “I’m old, I’m fat, I’m tired,” in a huge loud voice, practically every night, and if I were only a tiny bit less considerate, I would be bellowing this at night too these days. I have the post-Holiday doldrums in a big way. What I would like to do as a cure for these bore-blues is to start writing a third novel, a really long one this time, maybe even historical fiction (that’d be so cool! I’d really get to use my intelligence and my interest in history), but I have such writer’s block. It’s moved on to imagination block; I usually fantasize little stories all day long, like little scenarios of me telling someo...