Even if I don't have a job and I'm in debt up to my eyeballs, I started work on the first of my Clarion rewrites. It's not that I haven't had the time, but I've been afraid of them, afraid to work them and see what possibilities lie under their already failed verneers (sic).

Otherwise, feeling the crushing weight of failure and other indoor sports, feeling frisky, but only for intelligent women, and generally concerned about the sheer idiocy of my L.A. ex-girlfriend. It is a peculiar conceit of mine that my ex's should be doing great things and when they do stupid shit, especially stupid emotional shit (financial shit is excepted for obvious reasons), it really torques me off. I like to think of myself as a bullshit repellant. And this repellant rubs off on the women I date. But not always, sometimes you just can't save the weak. They will follow the same self-negating patterns of self-pity that got themselves into this mess and keep plugging along like it's all going to get better someday.

Call me when it does.

Does that make sense?

Being unemployed makes me care less about good events in the world, but more focused on the negative - if I'm unemployed then the whole damned planet must be going under. Decreased sex drive, increased appetite for coffee, and long periods of bed rest are the primary symptoms.

Write, write and keep writing.


ME NO FEAR THE REAPER

But tomorrow, it is more resumes, more rewriting, and stroll through the park to clear my stuffy head - stop and smell the roses crap.

Back to the keyboard.