My writing

[smokingboot]

is currently slow and shite.

I know where it should be going, I think, but every little thing takes forever, and I just feel exasperated with the whole shebang.

I'm worried about Scotland. If I'm taking a week off, surely I should be concentrating on the writing, not winging my way to lochs and glens. On the other hand, said lochs and glens are bound to inspire me. Oh for a laptop I could use, no, don't talk to me about pen and paper, I hate that stuff. I scrawl huge amounts down, then cross it all out and write over the top, until I can't decipher any of it. Most frustrating.

My thoughts are with a friend who's thinking of IVF?/H?/ that fertility treatment thing. I can't really be as helpful as I would like, because though I really want her to be happy, I can't empathise with her need. I never get past my suspicion of people who 'need' to have babies. If it's about love, why don't they adopt? If it's about having 'their own' baby, well that's possessiveness born of insecurity surely. If you can only love the things you possess, the things you call your own and control from the earliest moment, your 'love' is bound to turn sour, a) cos it was all about your needs in the first place, and b) in the end nobody owns anyone. (NB: This is just my opinion and is no reflection on any parenting types on or sans LJ!)

Returning to chum; she wants eggs, she can have some of mine. I have no need for the little sods, and all they do is make my life miserable. I have no intention of breeding, I think the earth has enough trouble of its own without me adding to it.

*sigh* Back to writing. Inch by inch by inch...