I've been sitting here for eleven hours, typing away on my almost sort of could be overdue play. It's going slowly, thank you, and not at all in the direction I wished it to go. Why is that? If anybody knows why these things never go in the directions you want 'em to go, I wish you'd explain it to me. I'd really like to know.
Birdie is throwing a big meeting of artists, musicians, writers, actors, and other assorted miscreants next weekend, and I can't go. I'm too far away and already committed to other theoretically creative mischief. Pshaw.
Nicki was out camping. Camping! Is it warm enough to do that yet? The last time I went camping a for real buffalo snorted on my tent. In case you're interested, nothing wakes you up faster than discovering the front of your tent covered in buffalo snort.
Julie hasn't posted anything today, so it's easy to presume she's out riding somewhere on her monster motorcycle. I rode a motorcycle once. Once. I traveled a distance of perhaps four yards, and ran over someone's foot. Although this occured many years ago, I've often wondered in that motorcycle is still laying in the spot where I dropped it.
My friend Mark is an attorney. He's a very pleasant individual. Actually, he's the third attorney I know who is genuinely good company. I guess I'm incredibly lucky in knowing all the attorneys in the world who are fun to be with - all three of 'em. Anyway, I called Mark, thinking he might like to go out and grab a bite. He couldn't - he's in a play. What? What?! He's doing a play and I'm sitting here?! He's having fun and frolicking and I'm sitting here typing and don't have a frolick to my name. Wa-a-a-a-a.
Okay. I'm better now. At least you are still with me.
You ARE still with me, aren't you? Breathe heavy or something, will ya, so I know ...
And how was your day?
On my own, with all of my falls.
3 years ago