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Have you ever heard of The Artist’s Way? It seems the book serves as the bible of anyone who desperately longs to express themselves creatively, just doesn’t know how. Shockingly, that includes Cosmo, who clearly had his paws AND TEETH on the book, even though his “artist within” continues to be an ambiguity to us. Your Honor, may the attached exhibit serve as proof #1. Pay especially close attention to the corners of the book. Maybe they make those covers with pigs ears? How else to explain Cosmo’s interest in chewing on the paper, something he hasn’t done since a puppy, now when he was at the legal drinking age? In dog’s years, one understands.

One of the first exercises that the book’s author, Julia Cameron, suggests is writing minimum three pages every day at dawn. Or right after waking. For three months. She calls it The Morning Pages. You can write whatever you want, whatever comes to mind. It’s supposed to be a mindless flow of thoughts, unscripted, uncensored, unpredictable.

A couple of weeks ago, I began scribbling my Morning Pages for the N-th time, and to give you an idea how it goes here are random excerpts from the notebook:

IT’S THE LAST DAY OF AUGUST. TIME GOES BY WITH NO RESPECT FOR OUR PLANS. AND OUR LIVES.

I REALLY DISLIKE THESE MORNING PAGES. THEY REEK DULL!

THESE CANDLES FROM ROSS ARE SUPER FRAGRANT. PUNCH-IN-THE-NOSE FRAGRANT.

THERE’S NOTHING IN MY HEAD WORTH SHARING AT THIS TIME. THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

I HAVEN’T EATEN ANYTHING YET AND I’M BURPING LIKE A CLOWN WHO ATE A BAR OF SOAP. ARE YOU SERIOUS, AGI??

TWO AND A HALF PAGES TO GO, HOLLOW BRAIN, THOUGHTLESS MORNING, CRUNCHY RED CABBAGE COLESLAW WITH EDAMAME FOR BREAKFAST.

THIS SALAD LOOKS BEAUTIFUL! PINK, BRIGHT PURPLE AND LIME GREEN WITH A FEW RIBBONS OF DARK GREEN. AND IT WORKS, TOO. I CAN ALREADY FEEL THINGS HAPPEN DOWN IN MY TUBES. JASON BETTER HURRY WITH HIS SHOWER!

I WILL LIVE 235 YEARS.

WHO ARE YOU, PERSON?

THIS IS STUPID. I HATE THIS. STUPID, STUPID MORNING PAGES.

That’s why I haven’t been writing much lately … in here. These stupid, stupid Morning Pages are screwing me up. Three pages of nonsense every morning. Have I mentioned I’m supposed to do this for THREE MONTHS? Getting it down on paper feels like pulling teeth. Or going to the gym. Or like removing my make-up after coming home from a party way past my bed time. Or like waiting around for Cosmo till he stops circling around the lawn and FINALLY decides on the best spot to take a dump. All of the above does one thing–makes me YAWN. Hence, when I think of more writing past dawn… you got it, I YAWN.

However, I do have something cute, delicious and very special for all you Labor Day Entertainers, and will post it shortly. Stand by!

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