arden knew his world-changing play writing would have to wait some more : as it had patiently been doing while he dozed there at his cheap plywood desk , self-indulgent and unproductive ( except , of course , for the unbidden activities of his ever inventive sub-conscious , as freud and his many disciples in psychoanalysis would have one believe is always the case and regarding which , given the previous words about ardens unspoken desire for literary immortality , the astute reader is most probably not in need of any additional explication ) .