When the life of the mind palls, or stymies, then it is time to have a life of physical labor. Which I did today, hauling boxes of sheet music for music teachers to buy at a convention down in Long Beach.

Yeah. I'm beat. And my back ain't exactly talking to me right now. But after a couple of glasses of wine, some tylenol and some Kava, it's okay.

And tomorrow I go back for some more sorting and hauling, and tons of selling (I hope). My good friend Bob T. needs to sell $5K this weekend to break even (pay me). So let's all keep our fingers crossed.

I'm working from 7:30a -6p tomorrow, Saturday, and Sunday. Earning good money, so I can spend some in Rome and not feel like a kept woman. Not that that would be bad, it's just that I'm still not used to it. That's all.

I'm hoping all this physical labor will kickstart my brain. But I did hear something hysterical, which I will share (and which undoubtedly will appear in someone else's famous novel); while we were in the bowels of this hotel, getting security clearance to be on the loading dock (We unloaded 2 trucks. Over 100 boxes. Ouch.), the security officer told the hotel manager (who had taken us to see him) that the entire Argentinian Rugby team was stuck in the elevator between the second and third floor. I mean, come on. That's just priceless! And the look on her face...apparently, they've had over two hundred rugby players at the hotel for almost a week, and she was at her wits' end. Most of them spoke little English, apparently - not all were from Argentina. I think I saw some Chinese there in Rugby uniforms...

So whenever writing gets me frustrated, it's time to start hauling boxes, or digging up my back yard, or some sort of hard manual labor to help smash the cobwebs in my brain.

I'm sure I'll be effin' brilliant by Monday, with how tired I am after just one day...