Saturday, April 05, 2003
Please, please, please do not write me e-mails telling me I ought to lighten up. Please. You can send me roadkill, piss on my grandmother's grave, eat crackers in my bed, drink from the milk carton, leave the toilet seat up, prefer crappy PCs over Macs, vote Republican, support driftnetting, use the good sewing scissors to make paper dolls, break all my crayons, let dirty dishes pile up in the kitchen (or bathroom) sink, listen to Eminem, call me an asshole and a maniac, preach creationism and flatearthism, pay good money to see bad movies, refuse to recycle, shoot songbirds with b-b rifes, wear pastels and flip-flops, clearcut the Alaskan wilderness, and write letters to Norton demanding that they include lyrics by Korn in the next edition of The Norton Anthology of American Literature Volume Two. But, and I'm only telling you this for your own good, really I am, do not fucking write me e-mails telling me to lighten up!
Thank you.
We sold three copies of TFoC ARC on eBay last night in as many hours. I have so few that, after that, I'm having to list them as three day auctions, sans the "buy it now" option. I'm also trying to get some other stuff up, including the very last of the "Salammbô" t-shirts. Proceed to the Cat Crutches Auction if you're interested.
I wrote nothing yesterday. Well, nothing but blogger entries and e-mails and proofreading marks on a galley of TFoC and posts to my phorum and such. No fiction. No more of Murder of Angels. This has got to stop soon. The work is piling up and it's going to topple over and either crush or smother me. How long's it been? I'm not even sure anymore. The days always bleed together, but I prefer that they bleed together because I'm writing too much and it leaves me too tired to notice or care whether it's Monday or Wednesday or whatever. Maybe I need to try the absinthe again. It worked nicely with that last short story, "La Peau Verte." I've been meaning to order a bottle of Versinthe and a bottle of Absinthe La Blanche, but haven't gotten around to it. I've been drinking Mari Mayans so long I crave some variety. Wait. I was writing about not writing, wasn't I? Ah, fuck. Whatever. It's all the same in the end. Well, not exactly the same, but I have a headache and details will only make it worse. Absinthe might make it better.
Yesterday, about 5 p.m., Spooky and I revisted the swings (no assward landings this time), then spent about an hour examining the various wildflowers growing on the school grounds. I'm always surprised at the diversity one finds almost anywhere, if you bother to look. My botany skills are dusty and we have yet to identify most of what we found. There's Viola blanda (Sweet White Violet) and Viola papilionacea (Common Blue Violet). Lots of Taraxacum erythrospermum (Red-seeded Dandelion) and Erigeron philadeplphicus (Daisy Fleabane), and a nice bunch of non-native Wisteria, but I'm not sure if it's W. sinensis (Chinese wisteria) or W. floribunda (Japanese wisteria). We have at least a dozen species we haven't figured out, most of them very tiny herbaceous things. It was a nice way to spend an hour. Spooky found a dead vole beneath a shrub, either Microtus pennsylvanicus (Meadow Vole) or M. pinetorum (Woodland Vole). He was a bit ripe and I didn't look close enough to figure out which. I did poke him with a stick. I'm hoping the ants finish him off and leave behind a nice skull.
It's officially afternoon. I must find some other way to annoy others.
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