In between work-words and book-words, I’ve spent a lot of time rocking around the roof the past few days.
Today I had a houseful of cult affiliates and we gobbled spinach artichoke dip baked in a bread-loaf. I’ve been writing so much that my mind is grateful of the shutdown moments that come, which is why I’ve been scarce.
Computer screens have officially succeeded at frying my eyeballs and I’m going to have to visit an optometrist in the very near future. I’m pretty sure Writers are supposed to wear glasses anyways. Hopefully they’ll make me look official enough that a publisher swipes up this novel of mine smart quick when it’s done.
For our friends around the world, I’m sure you’ve seen the madness in Boston and other insane American happenings flashing about the news. I personally manage these by staring less at newspapers and more at the moon. At least I can make sense of space, which is far deeper than anything I can achieve looking around Earth.
Fortunately, in between space staring, there’s syllable slinging. This world is a crazy place, I’m happy to have my favorite things established to ride through such ineffable madness.
Shout out to my fellow aliens… from the rooftop.