shaken & stirred

welcome to my martini glass


why, god, why?

Am I up right now. I have to get up in three hours and yet, here it is, middle of the freaking night and I am up now. And wondering if that person in that truck at the post office that I see through the window is doing what I think he's doing.

Oh wait. Whew. He's not. He's either doing his really crash-and-burn plan to break into the post office or works there. Probably works there.

You know what's sadder than being up at four and knowing you have to be at work by 9 and wondering what in the hell is wrong with you because no one sane is awake at this hour? It's when you hear one of your neighbors come home, thrusting you into an existential crisis in which the words fuddy duddy and adult come into play.

@ @ @

I didn't post about the Sept. 11 anniversary, and I'm not going to do so now. But I hope everyone took maybe a heartbeat longer than we all should every day to look around and think about how lucky we are and how important it is not to let things get (irrevocably) hopelessly screwed up in our country, and in our world, in the name of a senseless tragedy.

@ @ @

I want to write Stage Magic Fiction.


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