Work, work, work
Only my old friend Kristin would understand what I’m saying with that phrase, but suffice it to say that it used to induce giggles and clinking of beer bottles.
Just finished some editing. Have to write a story tomorrow and edit last-minute submissions. One of my mega-documents is pending approval — it took two fucking days to edit that 42-page monstrosity (I didn’t write it, and it sucks mightily because of it).
Met my upstairs neighbor last night. The cats howled till I came in the house and fed their fat asses. She asked if I’d want to go to church with her sometime. I politely declined, so then she invited me to a candle party the night before my housewarming. I debated inviting her to mine but decided against it, but I will go to the candle soiree. Like I need more fucking crap around this house!
Well, I’ve smoked my last cigarette and am going to finish my last cocktail (oh, yeah — I need to drink/smoke when I edit! The stories usually turn out better, I think, when I’m loaded). Too bad I have to go to bed when my energy and concentration is at its highest.
Sweet dreams, y’all!