Sorry, guys, I seem to have forgotten all about you.
I'm writing on a self-imposed drop-deadline, see. Eight or ten or twelve hours a day (okay, maybe not twelve...). And while I do have energy to spare, I simply don't have time to do it all. A very wise woman recently told me to "decide what's important and just do it!" -- so I guess I sort of maybe kind of sort of did.
The book will be done (not really done-done, but as far as spending every waking, non-Down-Easty moment on it goes) in a couple weeks. I'll tell you all about my motorcycle lessons then.
The House and I
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
I'm Wilder
Well, I'm off.
Not yet, actually, but it's that twiddly-thumb time I hate, where all I'm doing is sitting around waiting for it to be time to go. And I can't even leave early, like I usually give up and do, because the cat is going to need his fucking shot at 3:00. (Actually, he needs it at fucking 4:00 but I'm giving it to him early so I can fucking leave.)
Anyway, my motorcycle lessons are finally here. I'm not done the book yet, like I said I would be or I wouldn't go, but I'm so almost-done I can taste it and besides, none of you really believed me when I said that, did you? Pshaw.
Turns out there's a hurricane blowing in, too, just in time. And not only did I decide not to waste money on riding rain gear on the just-in-case scenario of a little water falling from the sky (after all, what am I made of, salt?), so I'm probably going to get soaked clear to the bone, but also, you know...
So there's that.
I do have to assume they'll cancel it if the weather's too severe. But I also do have to sort of assume it won't be. In honor of it, though, and me, here's a little song by Fred J. Eaglesmith that ought to hold you over until Monday or so, when I might be dried off and have time to check back in.
He's Canadian.
Ain't no way he's wilder than me.
Not yet, actually, but it's that twiddly-thumb time I hate, where all I'm doing is sitting around waiting for it to be time to go. And I can't even leave early, like I usually give up and do, because the cat is going to need his fucking shot at 3:00. (Actually, he needs it at fucking 4:00 but I'm giving it to him early so I can fucking leave.)
Anyway, my motorcycle lessons are finally here. I'm not done the book yet, like I said I would be or I wouldn't go, but I'm so almost-done I can taste it and besides, none of you really believed me when I said that, did you? Pshaw.
Turns out there's a hurricane blowing in, too, just in time. And not only did I decide not to waste money on riding rain gear on the just-in-case scenario of a little water falling from the sky (after all, what am I made of, salt?), so I'm probably going to get soaked clear to the bone, but also, you know...
HURRICANE!
So there's that.
I do have to assume they'll cancel it if the weather's too severe. But I also do have to sort of assume it won't be. In honor of it, though, and me, here's a little song by Fred J. Eaglesmith that ought to hold you over until Monday or so, when I might be dried off and have time to check back in.
He's Canadian.
Ain't no way he's wilder than me.