Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Howdy boys & chihuahas. Oh, and girls. Hi. And mules. And Omaha insurance agents. You need to hear this as well. Geez. I woke up like at 7:30 this morning; well, actually it was 7:15 but I have my clock fifteen minutes ahead to trick me into thinking I’m late and thereby make me hurry up. It didn’t work. I went back to sleep, well, after, wait, that was earlier. I wandered naked at 5 am to go pee & get aspirin and then suddenly I realized, or, rather, remembered that I have a houseguest who is always up very early and whom, thankfully, is male and, as far as I know, heterosexual, not that there’s anything wrong with that, so I just was like whatever and wandered in a daze back to bed, which leads me to the whole 7:30 thing. Wait. I’m trying to figure out how, with my alarm having been going off for an hour, I didn’t wake up earlier. Hmmm. That means I was hitting snooze for an hour before I even remember hitting snooze. And then I hit snooze two more times. And the dog will be hungry. But that’s what has to happen sometimes. I could tell by her eyes and overall general attitude that she wasn’t going to eat anyway, especially in the rushed atmosphere I would have been forced to implement.

Yup. So. Shit. Eh. Doesn’t matter. The thing I was gonna say. Fark. So, yeah, in a bumbling midst of a conversation in regards to literature and books and writing I confessed to my houseguest last night that I’d been writing a donkey shit load, ie, a load of donkey shit diatribe, and he expressed interest in reading it and for some odd reason I handed him a copy of the screed, at least the first 70 odd pages, with the warning that it was very rough, and sucked, and that I was deeply ashamed of 90% of it, and that I would prolly be arrested if a literary agent got a hold of it, both to jack up their own personal gain and to prevent me from ever harming another keyboard. Gawd. Now I have to discuss it later and fake believement if he says it’s good and/or cry in bewilderment if he says it sucks or just look at the sky in pseudo abandonment of all reason if the subject is never broached again, which it will be. Ah, fuck it, that’s the way shit is, yah? If I’mma write, and have folks read it, which, fuck, why write otherwise, I could just think the shit elsewise, so, logically then, I gotta deal with people’s reactions. It’s part of the, um, inherent core essence of the that which it professes to and may actually be. Bah.

Jee-SUS! Why oh why do I not drink bud dry? So yah. Yup. And you’re just ecstatic over me saying “so yah” and “yup” again. crapola. I gotta do some shit now. Fascinating shit like invoices and cover sheets and, fuck, it’s just too depressing to go into. But even though we’re out of toilet paper, there are plenty of coffee filters, so I won’t complain too much. And now, I really should drink some water.