"A writer ought to comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable." -- Mark Twain
I took some pictures of the beautiful sunset the other night, I'll try to get one of those posted soon. Because it's another wonderful way to procrastinate. The saga of the outfit continues -- what the FUCK am I going to wear on on Saturday??? I'm sure it will be something simple and elegant and that I will closely resemble some kind of hen.
Charlie is trying to kill me. Don't tell him I'm onto his plan, I just wanted someone to know. Speaking of knowing, my fingers were just up and in my nose, probing, searching, scratching, and I look out my window now, over my laptop, to see four construction men staring up at me from the building next door. Nice. But this is only embarrassing, not life and death, like this Charlie thing. Ask Grace, I got a "charlie" horse the other day while having tea. Sitting there, sipping tea, and BAM -- cramp in my bicep. Sure, I was flexing the fuck out of it in order to feel my itty bitty budding muscle, but still. I don't think it's any coincidence that my personal trainer shares his name with an excruciatingly painful cramp. It's all part of his plan, I'm telling you.
It's Thursday already! Tonight, I'm looking forward to entertaining my father and a very good friend of ours. Tomorrow night there is a fabulous event at MoPA, I'll be there with feathers on. And Saturday, well, you know all about Saturday. I'm terribly excited. Terribly.