Daily nothings.

It would have been lovely to stay under the protection of my feather doona. To listen to the rain making gentle patterned sounds on my attic roof. Smile to my self as the family head off to school.work.uni and wake up later when my body wants to.

Instead I peeled myself to an almost upright position, mumbled my way downstairs to the coffee machine and sat staring out at the cold winter sky writing my Morning Pages. An attempt to clear the subsequent writers block which has created havoc in my life. I am currently entering the final Act of my script. You'd think the home stretch would be empowering and a downhill glide.

The hours drift by while I sit at work. I pretend to be doing work when the Bosses come past, instead of on Perez, Team-Twilight, Fashion Blogs and Facebook. I wish I had something other to dream of then Jackson Rathborne, Twilights Jasper, who is the hottest thing since Hot Cross Buns, and perhaps R-patz, who is consistently being voted Hottest Man.

My blogs seem to reflect the boredom and lack of obscurity of my daily activities. I am an adventurer. I love experience and thrill and romance. I am a hidden and suffocated Bohemian.

I heard on Triple J last night, in the centre of Paris is a bookstore, Shakespeare and Co. where you can get a bed for free. Between the reference section and history books, beds are available for the travelling wanna-be writer, at the $$ of working an hour a day in the book store. The rest of the time is devoted to writing, reading and musing. Bring it on I say. Now just need at ticket to Paris!