idle talk

More nocturnal encounters with the Timberlake entourage - Trace was tremendously friendly in person, and wanted to buy me & A. breakfast at the ferry cafe, but then they didn't recognize him there & wouldn't let him put it on his bill & so I had to pay for it all with coins from my pockets. Then I dug up some dead piglets from a field of candles and got all smooshed while wrestling a seal. Please feel free to consider this my official contribution to any and all discussion on Mr. Ayala. The Tracemaster. Tracenator.

Why yes, I am feeling twitchy, thanks for not asking.

Happily, I did the whole sign-up song and dance at the lit department despite my killer flu last week, and made it into this month-long translation/editing work-shop, which started today; purr, purr with satisfaction. I intend to keep purring all the way into October.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I continue to writhe and bathe in the agony of not being able to produce read-worthy text of any kind. I have no selfless love for people who can write; I envy them with ugly envy, I want to take their ability away so it can be mine, and if we were in the movies, I'd also steal their girlfriends with my steady income and my sneaky ways while they are out making their art. Oh pity me!