[writing] Away she went, and returned much calmer

I am, possibly, probably, going on a writing retreat in a few weeks. To the cabin where I sprained my ankle, although I have since returned there and injured nothing at all, so perhaps that's not the best way to identify the place.

I'd be out there for 5-6 days all by my lonesome, with nothing but a laptop, some poetry journals, a week's supply of apples and pasta and other good things to eat. And nature. And quiet. And time in which to become bored enough to let my brain start working again on the novel thing. My hope is to kickstart it enough to continue when I get back into the city. My fear is that I will want to never leave.

I mean, the internet and cable T.V. and human interaction is all well and good, but c'mon - time and space and focus to write? I'm in heaven just contemplating it.