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bear by san

March 2017

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writing dust bible 'house of dust"

protect me from what i want

No climbing tonight, as I have a headcold, which makes me sad. Stupid meatpuppet. So instead we're watching Emeril screw up a chocolate tart (like Johnny Carson, he's funniest when things are going poorly) and wondering if it would be a good idea to eat some pasta.

Sigh.

Because it's just a headcold, I did feel well enough to truck out to Logee's today, which was therapeutic. There's nothing quite like wandering around giant greenhouses full of oranges and banana plants and bougainvillea to make winter easier to take.

I got 1,196 words on that s2 Shadow Unit story I am not writing yesterday, thus filling in all the important character bits of the story. Which is nice, because it means next year I just have to write the plot. Meanwhile, Chill continues to loiter unresponsiblely on streetcorners and swear when it stumbles home drunk at 2:30 in the morning that it's been looking for work.

It occurs to me that this book might actually go better if I had some idea what it is these people want, and what they're afraid of. And what they need to learn, by the end.
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I consistently misread Logees as Logres. Which should be even more therapeutic, right?
I first discovered Emeril when obsessivewoman and I moved to Sunnyvale back in 1998, and we were channel-surfing to see what was on the new cable system. We happened across the Food Network just when a guy in a chef’s outfit was saying “I love meat!” and proceeding to deep-fry everything in sight. We were highly amused.

A report on the progress of my Criminal Minds addiction.

Finished S1 last night. Freaked the hell out at being cliffhung, resorted to shamefully downloading episode 1, Season 2.

Have made penance by purchasing S1 on DVD.

I love this show.

Re: A report on the progress of my Criminal Minds addiction.

SCORE!
Agh! Pasta!

(... wait, should that be hmm pasta?)
I am very fond of "Oh, fuck, the Internet is here."
Chill continues to loiter unresponsiblely on streetcorners and swear when it stumbles home drunk at 2:30 in the morning that it's been looking for work.

Sounds like sailors to me. Send in the sailors and get the bar fights started!
My book is a George Thoroughgood song.
Right.
George Thoroughgood and the Deleware Destroyers.

Sounds like drunken sailors to me. :P
figure the odds.

*g*

We all had to sign NDAs. Sorry. *g*