My brain talks too much.
As soon as I open my eyes to a freshly minted day, my brain starts yammering.
Blah, blah, blah.
Things to do:
Make beds with hospital corners. Note: Omit drainage bag and catheter.
Wipe out dust bunny colony. Note: Dump remains in woods in back of house.
Forage supermarket shelves for food. Note: Wear elbow pads, helmet and body armor.
Print out 200 page manuscript at UPS store. Print out 200-page manuscript on office printer.
Don’t want to dehydrate the printer cartridge or get the skinny on a ream of paper.
A cartridge only costs $30 bucks. A 200-page print job costs $15 or $20 bucks.
Will there be a happy ending?
Print out 200 page manuscript on office printer. Print out 200-page manuscript at UPS store.
Note: It’s not rocket science.
I’m bored. On to other things . . .
You gonna write a blog post today out of anorexic air? Transparency in writing is key in a pad. Or are you gonna strain our brain with that editing shit?
I vote for Feng shui writing. Take the laptop and write in different corners of a room.
What about the dogs? The nagging will start in approximately 10 seconds, 9, 8, 7 . . .
Ruff, ruff, I want to go out.
Ruff, ruff, I want to come in.
Ruff, ruff, feed me or I’ll magically appear underfoot and get tangled in your legs.
Ruff, ruff, scratch behind my ear or I’ll eat that Harry Potter book you left on the coffee table.
You’re a dumbass for leaving it there.
I want this. I want that. Dog demands disguised as high-pitched barks.
God, they’re worse than kids.
You’ve only got one kid.
But if I had two, the dogs would be twice as bad.
Dogs are easier than kids, except when a dog screeches, you can’t shove a binky in its mouth.
Is there a binky for adults?
Cigarettes and booze. Both can kill you, but at least you’ll be smiling at the end of days.
The dogs are still a pain in my ass.
Looks like more than one ass to me.
But the dogs are so cute when they’re quiet.
That doesn’t last long. One crow caw and they’re out of the house – ruff, ruff, ruff all the way down the stairs and onto the lawn.
Sometimes I get so ferklempt from their antics shit sputters from my ears.
That’s because you’ve got shit for brains a.k.a. CRS (can’t remember shit).
Can’t remember what?
Say goodnight, Gracie.
Do you write from the seat of your pants or switch on your editor?