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Just a couple of quick things...
For one, Maggie is still with child. She hasn't pooped out her puppies yet, despite being in the supposedly tell-tale temperature range of 98-99.9 degrees for nearly 72 hours now. It's somewhat annoying. I wish she'd get this done with. Besides, I'm sick of her crapping in the bathroom.
Amy's finished with her semester, and she got an A in English which made me exceptionally proud. Statistics show that coming back to school after an absence is terribly hard. We're still waiting on her communications grade.
I've still got a paper to finish. There's no set length, but I've got four pages done and I expect to have around 12 when I finish. Luckily, I've got the whole thing outlined, so all it will take is me just sitting down and doing it with two hours to work. Then, all I have to do is collect finals from my students, and I'm finished for the semester.
It's about time to write a Christmas letter, and it's not coming along very well. Amy is bugging to send out Christmas cards before we leave for Indiana. After my apparent critical success from last year's edition, I have again been elected to write a generic letter to stuff in all of envelopes we send out. Last year's letter came about very organically from my mind. This year, it's not happening so far because I am forcing it. In fact, I haven't written word one. It sucks that I can't seem to find a copy of last year's for inspiration, even though I published it in this very blog. See, MySpace is functionally retarded at times, this time being one of those. It's not letting me go back any further than that last ten posts right now, which obviously doesn't get me to last December.
It's annoying, but now I know what kind of writer's block Truman Capote went through after In Cold Blood. Okay, so it's not that extreme, but still. Speaking of Capote, we watched his biopic last night, the one with Philip Seymour Hoffman. Hoffman really became Capote (and hence deserving of an Oscar), but the movie itself sorta sucked. Well, in comparison to In Cold Blood it was really lame.
But who am I to talk about lame? I'm sitting here listening to fucking Oasis.
Amy's finished with her semester, and she got an A in English which made me exceptionally proud. Statistics show that coming back to school after an absence is terribly hard. We're still waiting on her communications grade.
I've still got a paper to finish. There's no set length, but I've got four pages done and I expect to have around 12 when I finish. Luckily, I've got the whole thing outlined, so all it will take is me just sitting down and doing it with two hours to work. Then, all I have to do is collect finals from my students, and I'm finished for the semester.
It's about time to write a Christmas letter, and it's not coming along very well. Amy is bugging to send out Christmas cards before we leave for Indiana. After my apparent critical success from last year's edition, I have again been elected to write a generic letter to stuff in all of envelopes we send out. Last year's letter came about very organically from my mind. This year, it's not happening so far because I am forcing it. In fact, I haven't written word one. It sucks that I can't seem to find a copy of last year's for inspiration, even though I published it in this very blog. See, MySpace is functionally retarded at times, this time being one of those. It's not letting me go back any further than that last ten posts right now, which obviously doesn't get me to last December.
It's annoying, but now I know what kind of writer's block Truman Capote went through after In Cold Blood. Okay, so it's not that extreme, but still. Speaking of Capote, we watched his biopic last night, the one with Philip Seymour Hoffman. Hoffman really became Capote (and hence deserving of an Oscar), but the movie itself sorta sucked. Well, in comparison to In Cold Blood it was really lame.
But who am I to talk about lame? I'm sitting here listening to fucking Oasis.
Posted by Your Friendly Neighborhood DJ on December 13, 2006 01:01 AM | Permalink
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