Sitting in my hotel room making lists of things to do to get moving; today, sewer and water, tomorrow, electricity and gas; tonight, acid indigestion for the umpteenth night in a row.
We got the rental in Santa Fe we wanted, signed the lease last night, will drive to Manitou Springs manana to collect unmentionables and pack delicate electronics to haul away before the moving company comes in to finish the job, then drive back on Monday, clean up the hairs and dead crickets and sticky counters the last occupant of the rental kindly left for us, and then the movers deliver the goods Tuesday.
Meanwhile back at the split-level ranchero in Colorado, our prospective buyer's earnest money check bounced (B of A's fault, since apologized for and supposedly corrected) and he submitted a list of poopy things to be fixed before we close the sale. This is good, actually; he could have reamed our nether regions with ludicrous but logical demands for structural repairs we could in no way afford. So hooray for poopy.
I am burnt out, but hanging in there.
Wish you were here, or had hair, or something like that. You know what I mean.
I'm doin' my conniving best to get through this move so I can get back to serious fiction writing. Nothing like sorting through nineteen years of junk to give my creative muses conniptions. Meanwhile, my poor dog plots to convince me to leave Return of the Son of Shreddy (our third paper shredder...the other two burned out or jammed) and go out for a walk in the lovely weather we're having. Thank Dog for dogs...
OK, Sir James, what's the story re: FaceBook being better for writers? You're about the __nth person that's said that to me, but I don't see the advantage. (Come to the daaaark side, Luuuuuuuke...) Whazzup with that, homes? Am I dense, or is my propensity for visual eye candy holding me back, or what?
Well you must get on here now and then so I'll take a chance you'll read this and say thanks for the add, lad. Love your writing, what I can scare up of it to read on the net, that is. I aspire to literary delusions, myself, so we have that in common. Best to you & the dog, my little sweetie Kiko D. says bring her on by if you're out CO way so they can play in the Garden of the Gods together. Ciao for niao, my leetle miao,
if it's any consolation, my poem makes me feel the same way. lol. great seeing you in jackson. loved your work. and i'll never forget: "you don't need the rocks. just jump. "
I am the king of myspace, but my kingdom is small and not very mighty. I say rise up from the dead ye
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
apparently i'm your new stalker...
ok.
I am (stomping on him). p.s. thanks for teaching me to piss just ouside the door.
I'm serious. :)
Hi james. tell my favorite dog hello. miss her. oh yeah...and you too. :)
I'm doin' my conniving best to get through this move so I can get back to serious fiction writing. Nothing like sorting through nineteen years of junk to give my creative muses conniptions. Meanwhile, my poor dog plots to convince me to leave Return of the Son of Shreddy (our third paper shredder...the other two burned out or jammed) and go out for a walk in the lovely weather we're having. Thank Dog for dogs...
see more dog and puppy pictures
Beautiful...
I'm proofing. How are you?
Egads, what imagery! All that air, AND butterflies.
I love this end of the Rockies, but I'd kill to see Denali one day.
OK, Sir James, what's the story re: FaceBook being better for writers? You're about the __nth person that's said that to me, but I don't see the advantage. (Come to the daaaark side, Luuuuuuuke...) Whazzup with that, homes? Am I dense, or is my propensity for visual eye candy holding me back, or what?
Ciao for niao, my leetle miao,
~S
I was sick now I'm better so I'm partying.
hey sweeney...give me a call.
wow...you most definitely have pimped your myspace...or i'm having a funky trip
if it's any consolation, my poem makes me feel the same way. lol. great seeing you in jackson. loved your work. and i'll never forget: "you don't need the rocks. just jump."
I found this in that Tim Sandlin book you gave me. There may be some truth:
"One is foolish to feel sorry for writers. They're all fucking liars, and they fatten on pain. Also, they invariably steal women." (Godwin Lloyd-Jons)