Written by: The Doctor and The Walrus

Last April, I finished 90 days of P90X, quite possibly one of the most difficult 90 days of my life. For those of you not familiar with the program, it's 13 weeks, 6 workouts a week. The workouts themselves range from resistance training to yoga. But for 13 weeks, there is no rest. I mention this here, because it has become clear to me that writing has to be the same. For those periods when you are writing, it needs to be relentless. That's what leads me here. When things became difficult during my workouts, I leaned on my workout partner for support. But more importantly, I leaned on my partner to push me on those days when I just didn't think I could do it. My friend The Doctor and I have talked writing projects for awhile now, and both of us are guilty of periods of consistent work, strung between periods of complete inactivity. So I thought perhaps we could push each other. Things always take on a different urgency when someone is counting on you.

So let's do this. No screenplays this time around, let's write some prose. I'll start, 300 words or so and then it's The Doctor's turn. Let the story go where it will. The goal is to write every other day, but if we miss a day here and there so be it. The main thing is that we're writing and the story is moving along. So that's the task, now get to it.

Here you go.......

I was thirty-seven when I lost my mind. I guess I shouldn’t really say that I lost it . It was still there. I should probably say that I just stopped listening to it. I ate, slept, fucked, and went to the gym just like I always had. But as I sat at my desk on that cold snowy Virginia afternoon in January, it became clear to me that my mind was on a permanent vacation. I looked out the window on the 10^th of January 2011 at the colorless sky, and the mounds of snow where the shrubs used to be, and I just knew that I would never be happy there again. So I did what any respectable man in his mid-thirties would do. I quit my job and moved to Key West.

The warm Gulf breezes skipped softly across my face as I stepped off the plane. In the distance there were palm trees swaying quietly, and a flower that I had never seen before bloomed right outside the terminal entrance. It was 26 degrees when I left Virginia that morning and there I stood with both feet firmly planted on the island for the first time. It was 76 degrees and the wind tossed my suddenly too long hair to one side. I had only brought one bag with me from the mainland. I figured if my move stuck, I could always go back and get the rest of my things at a later date. Beyond that, I hadn’t given the actually being there much thought. Getting out was the part I planned, I didn’t really do much thinking about the getting in.