stuff


This is mostly just Wendy and me sitting and writing at the Borders. But I'm messing around with the meet up page and found some widgetty things. This part isn't a whine because that meeting thing at Borders WORKS. Not so great today, but usually, it makes me work. BICHOK.

* * * *

I thought I had a book out today but it's actually out in TWO days. July 9th. And such fanfare we're having here! Yessireee! Contests and alerts and interviews and chats and. . . all sorts of things that I'm supposed to be doing to prove I'm good at my trade! Yes indeed! My ebook will rise through the ranks to become a surprise best-seller, just you wait and see.

Speaking of professionalism, I'm going to DC next week. Did I mention that about 30000000000000 times? Dee Cee.

My brother said I'm welcome to stay at his house. It's a nice house, too, but oy.

I think the last time I stayed there might have been the night my father died. I'd come in a separate car and spent way too much time alone in the room with my dad's corpse, waiting for the moment when I felt easy around him it, which never came. I'd read too many stories of strong women who washed the bodies of their dead--I did manage to kiss his forehead. After that long evening, I couldn't drive home. So Mike took the kids home to Frederick and left me there. I spent the night at my brothers throwing up and watching movies. I watched Dave about three times and Kevin Kline still gives me flashbacks.

The throwing up is SOP for me, not disgust. Some people to sorrow with tears, some produce great art. I barf. I'm the guy from the Sot-Weed Factor.

Naw, that can't have been the last time I spent the night at my brother's. Have I also mentioned that I'd rather get a root canal than leave my rat-maze? I hate to travel. Hate. Hate. Hate.

Also, I think my dog has fleas and now that musical phrase is stuck in my head.

Comments

  1. v-word is dener

    dener dener dener

    At least you kissed the dead guy on the forehead. I could not. The preacher man holy dude and I got in a little fight about that. I just couldn't do it. No kissing dead folk and as a general rule not much kissing of the live ones either. Dogs though are a different matter. Kiss and French kiss the dogs with bad breath.

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  2. I had this firm conviction that I must learn to be Comfortable with Corpses.

    Nope, not gonna happen. So much for that career as an undertaker.

    Doggie kisses, eh? Pleh. Have you seen where that dog mouth goes? Slurp, slurp.

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