April has begun; ScriptFrenzy has begun. I have not begun.

I am completely without ideas, or even an inspiration for an idea. Maybe I need a full eleven months for a new seed to ripen, and another month for it to germinate.

They've only given me nine.

But if I start today, then maybe I can stir up the inspiration.

The question is: do I want to?

So -- I used call my dad nearly every night.

I'd call my dad to just talk. Often that "just talking" would be to deconstruct my feelings about relationships with other people, or work through writer's block (like I'm having with screnzy), or share cool things I'd heard on the news, or the Web, or ask if he'd seen that funny new commercial.

Mostly, gradually, over the last almost-year-and-a-half, I've fallen out of the thought habit that I should call him or could call him, until this week. All Week, I've been keeping a running tab, while I'm watching T.V., or come across something on the 'Net, of things to discuss with him... only to remember, mid thought, that it's rather a moot point.

I was just thinking how much I missed him, just now, when I came across this post on Wil Wheaton's blog:

a note to my dogs

He would have thought that post was almost as nifty as a raw onion, tomato and cheddar sandwhich on whole wheat homemade bread with mayo.