I think I'm losing it.

It's amazing what writers (or is that just me) can find to do while I'm trying to write; or conversely trying not to.
    I don't know how many times I've seen this sign  before and it's always made me smile. I had an idea for a story but it won't work, or maybe it will but it wouldn't be very long. So I just settled for painting this picture.
   Then I finally found my muse - what exactly is a muse? I'm actually writing in the middle of the night, annoying nobody and not even drinking when my beloved "just pops in" to check that I'm not dead, but in reality ensuring that I'm not having an electronic relationship with a thirty stone truck driver calling himself Cindy. 
    Then this morning I read two stories. The first announcing the death of the paper book in favour of its electronic replacement. Fine with me. The second from an equally reliable source bemoaning the dearth of good ebooks owing to the fact that readers of the world want to caress actual paper with their feverish fingers in some kind of deviant thrill that has little or nothing to do with reading. Perhaps if books were made from fishnet stocking I could understand.
   Regardless, whether the future is electronic or stockings, sorry paper I'm going to continue writing. I'm up to page fifty three of my new novel. It's going well.
   Oh, I've just received an email from Cindy.