quit playing games with my heart

I just tried to play solitaire but I opened up my calculator by accident instead. It actually confused me for a second.

How do I get myself into situations where I have to defend my honour against random strangers? I guess it’s the price I pay for an all night pass into the realm of the infinite...the force demands balance. The thing I love about this writing business is that the more full of shit you are, the more people think you're a genius. I'll admit I pat myself on the back from time to time - it sounds something like this: Omigod I am a fucking genius sometimes! (no one is reading this so it’s okay to brag, right?)

I am a badass and just sliced cucumbers on the counter with no cutting board (I’ll regret it in the morning, what else is new?)

So it seems I have discovered (a little too late but not so late that it doesn't still count) that the key to being able to write non-fiction is to read fiction. Good fiction. Genius fiction. Crazy fiction.

Thesis detritus: The fish told me to write and so I wrote, and now it's time for some zen-like platitudes. Here's what I realized today: there is a real difference between knowing and doing, between wishing and being, between creating and living.

Er, don’t look at me for answers...if I had any I would have written the book, gotten rich and made my way out to one of my many mountain village homes (I'm was thinking maybe BC, Ukraine, Japan, and Ireland...do they have mountains in Ireland? They have nice voices there, anyway. I’ll make it work somehow. Hmmm, and I guess I'll have to add the monkey sanctuary to that now - yeah, 'round these parts we just call them all monkeys, but we like all kinds) where I will be attended by hot dark-haired men with nice sideburns who like to stay in bed all day...when they're not busy making me dinner.

Right, so since this blog is actually supposed to be about boys and my misadventures in romance in preparation for the writing of my own great, groundbreaking novel (about same), here is a pickup line I thought of just now:
"Hey, wanna go for a ride on my merry-go-round?"

I fucking hate it when you ignore me, and you know it, don't you?

Hmmm, I hope I haven’t shot my proverbial wad here. Back to work. A bientot. (how do you make accents on this thing?)