Half an hour later, your fingernails are well-scrubbed and filed and your hair brushed to a luster; and your head just as empty as ever.
"I blame you for this," you say to Brute, who stuffs its cheeks full of straw in defiance.
The night is well advanced by now, and with all the frustration and mental exertion you've put into the piece (even if it doesn't have a single line written yet), you feel you might be overdue for some sleep.
I'll wake early in the morning to work on it then, you decide, honestly believing it for a goodly helping of seconds.
You squirm on the ape-ravaged mattress for quite some time before you feel sleep start to descend. Like as not you're going to have some odd dreams tonight….
Onward And Onward To Parts Unknown