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Julie Frayn is the author of Suicide City, a Love Story (currently a semi-finalist in the Kindle Book Review 2013 Book Awards), and It Isn't Cheating if He's Dead. She also writes short stories (placing third in the Writer's Digest Write it Your Way contest with Samburger and Flies). Julie blogs at You can find her on twitter @JulieFrayn and facebook at

Canada Online News | Gonzo Online! Columinist

Sitting at my desk early one morning, I stared at a blank screen. May as well get ready for work – clearly no brilliant words are awaiting me on that day. I kneeled over the tub with my noggin under the tap ready for a good hair wash – then the blood rushed to my head.

A gaggle of thoughts crammed into my brain at once, fighting for attention like five kids all jumping up and down and screaming in unison, “look at me Mommy, look at me.” And I only have two kids.

Wow, where did all these ideas come from? Must be the blood, no?

I quickly finished the washing thing, skipped the conditioner, and ran to my computer to spew all those thoughts onto the page before they disappeared as fast as the blood seeped back down my neck. That’s something that happens more often every day, vanishing thoughts. Damn time, marching on with no consideration for us mere humans.

Inversion_tableSo if blood pushed into the brain results in epiphanies, then I have a new writing strategy. I’m going to get an inversion table. Or gravity boots. Hang upside down and write my brains out. Maybe literally. Well, not “literally” – just the overused ‘not real or true but I REALLY MEAN IT’ form of literally.

There's one hitch in that giddy up. If I’m inverted, I will be looking upside down at my laptop. I’ll have to fashion a mounting device, so the computer flips along with the bird. Like an upside down desk with the laptop tethered to it. Seems like an awful lot of work.

I wonder how long I could keep it up (or upside down) until I passed out. On the plus side, my boobs and ass might perk up a bit. Until I am upright again and that gravity bitch takes over. Ah well, small mercies.

So this is why men call their penis the little head!  All that rushing blood, it does the thinking for them. Even if it is only for two minutes.

Our valuable member has been with us since Tuesday, 26 July 2016.

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