As I was pondering my current situation I wondered today whether wealth beyond the dreams of avarice would make me happy, ease the sadness I sometimes feel or just make me rich and sad rather than just sad.
It is an imponderable that I haven't considered before even in times of previous sadness long before the current cause arrived on the scene.
I have my doubts that untold wealth would make me any less prone to these 'down' periods I have, it may mean that I can be sad in more luxurious surroundings or in some beautiful house overlooking the sea but I don't think it would alter my mental make-up which seems to be of the Eeyore rather than the Winnie the Pooh school of thought.
It's a strange one, maybe a little bit more money would ease the down times by allowing me to travel to uplifting places, especially in the Winter once the clocks have retreated from the sunny days of Summer but it is unlikely to happen with the lottery odds at 12 billion to 1 or whatever it is and my best selling book of short stories still in dry dock.
The answer of course is to get the stories written and published, no easy task I might say, and let my adoring public buy them in their millions thereby providing me with extra 'de-downing' money. Well get on with it instead of maundering away on here, I hear you say. I wish, is my response, the muse has left me and I no more know where my hero 'Bob' is heading than I know how to make gold from base metal.
Still, there's no show without Punch so perhaps I should just dive in and write any old drivel and pick the gems from the sludge once I've finished the first draft.
Good idea. That's what I'll do.
ttfn
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