So, I’m sitting here in the midst of a late spring storm that won’t quite manifest itself. The wind is blowing and the trees are shaking and it’s blowing shit off my desk. I fucking HATE using paperweights. I could shut the doors and windows but I like the 55 degree weather coming through though it’s making the air inside a bit damp. Meh. Enough about the fucking weather. I don’t really know why I was talking about the weather. Weblogs aren’t created for inane fucking small talk.
I suppose I wanted to just start writing, although there is nothing terribly interesting going on in my life right now. My dog is sitting on the floor next to me, smiling at me, unmindful of the fact that in a few hours, she’s getting a rabies shot the thickness of my daughter’s thumb shoved through her skin. My dog has never bitten someone before but, truth be told I’m shrieking with glee at the prospect of some half educated vet’s assistant being the first on that chopping block.
My books are coming along just fine. “A Step Left of the Devil’s Road” is in its final editing stage, before I post it for publication and “Ladies First” is on hold for a week while I let the text settle in my brain.
Chug chug chuggin’ along.
My daughter is in her room, watching Arthur. She’s also testing her screaming voice. The cycle repeats itself over and over. She screams, I run from my desk and jump over the gate looking for a daughter covered in blood, but instead find a 24 inch tall, cute little smiling butthead who’s trying to raise my blood pressure. My daughter will be the death of me. I know it. I just got done playing ball with her, in her room with an oversized ball that is about as large as she is. Funny thing is we’ll bounce it off the wall, it will come back and hit her in the face, and she’ll look at me like I just sucker punched her. It’s almost endearing. Fast forward five years she’ll probably be lighting my bed on fire while I’m in it.