Clearing one's mind

Ok, how does a writer clear one's mind. Let's face it! A writer's mind is full of ... stuff. We have characters clawing and biting to get more time in the story, we have a plot line that is complex and causes one to worry excessively about all those lose ends and that continuity thing. Was he seated on the left a paragraph ago and I have now placed him mysteriously on the right? It will drive you .... to drink.

Clear my thoughts. Well, I have always imagined me on a sailboat in the middle of Severn River with a muscular young tanned boy smiling at me as he piloted the boat. the waves lap quietly and are the only sounds heard other than his and my breathing. I always think of this right before some doctor slips an epidural steroid shot in my back to relieve my ruptured disc. We are told to be relaxed and that was one of the relaxing moments of my life. I was 15 he was 16. He smelled good. I was wearing a two-piece bathing suit (2-pieces were new to America! ok I am old) my aunt made it for me because my mom refused to buy me one and well I was spending a couple weeks with her in Severna Park. So here I am with the man of my dreams alone on a boat and ...
nothing. not a damn thing. He did nothing but sail the damn boat. I looked at myself, I was a cute petite thing. Well, my boobies were not exciting but at least they filled the top. I had no tan (burn quickly) my hair was a mousy brown (thank god for hair dye) and I was not aggressive. I thought guys were suppose to make the move and I sat on that stupid boat and waited for him to ravish me. I was ready. I mean why bother with a two piece suit. I sat as seductively as a 15 year old virgin could. I leaned forward so he could see my cleavage. OK not much there but I had heard boys had great imaginations. I even put some of my own oil on my body stopping suddenly at my breasts. I sent a look of desire. Or so I thought. And then nothing. the jerk never moved. He even stopped talking. All he did was keep this plastered smile on his face. I never understood until one year later when a different guy at Severna Park took me out. The two boys had been best friends. This new boy was not the type to sit and smile (believe me!) but he did explain his friend had admitted he wanted to take me right there in the damn boat and he had to keep his hand on the stupid thing that steers the boat or he would have ripped that top right off of me.

So I was seductive. I was successful. But he was a good boy and well, I learned my first lesson in the power of woman and the strength of men. Ok, some types are strong. And the other boy, well, he would have not held back. It was then I realized I did not want this new boy. He was too eager and too well easy. I wanted my tanned muscled young man that held tight onto the stick thing piloting the boat. I wanted a gentleman.

So, my dear readers when you wonder that I do not really like Darcy, we will know why that is not true. I see my tanned muscled boy as Darcy and me in my seductive bathing suit as Elizabeth. and that is how I clear my mind of current thoughts.