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In my visit with my psychiatrist today, I expressed my concern over inability to concentrate. Things change over time, and this is the first time I've been prescribed an ADD med, though I admitted to him that street amphetamines had been a previous spectre in my life. He asked, I answered--almost too fast.

My doctor is somewhwere between a friend, and father confessor, except that he's never regailed against me for any of my medical peculiarities. It helps to have a de-tempered shrink.

I won't be able to start the med till Wednesday, as the pharmacy didn't have it stocked, but once again I hope for a miracle. Pills aren't miracles, but they can precipitate wonders.

There are times that writing comes as easily as floating on water. Lately, I start with one idea, and end up with a totally different outcome from expected, (ie "Bridges). Maybe it's just that I had a different message than I thought, but I've been unsatisfied with my writing efforts of late.

I always have trouble finishing "shorts" that I start, and "Another Man's Castle," is just one started recently, but not any where near finished. As the idea came from waking from a dream. The original details will have to be filled in with some creative imagination, and I hope the med helps with concentration. It's difficult to complet things when the old brain doesn't cooperate.

Last night, I wrote an article on the financial repercussions of Katrina. Didn't like the way it finished up, and I'll have to change it because of the time frame I wrote it in--before the storm hit. I give myself kudos for hitting on the exact news lead in the national news this evening, but the five line sentences have got to be fixed. Sometimes writing is like falling up a hill, and the scrapers feel deeper when you're working uphill.