Some things are too idiotic to make public. Some people are idiotic enough to make them public anyway. I’m trying to decide (and, being of the above-mentioned ilk, admitting to it) whether I’m really going to find myself as directionless as it looks like soon. And what does one do with finding oneself a) not in the market for a job in the classic sense, b) without young children in need of attention, and c) with an (a)vocation which appears to have been proven untenable?
As for fiction...it’s creative hiatus time. I’m just going to be working on other stuff for a while.
Sell Apple/Buy Bucyrus? I hate buying/selling. Makes me feel so...imprudent. And yet, and yet--if it is the one thing Mr. J is able to take a meaningful interest in and the proposed exchange has the hallmarks of a sound buy/hold decision and it’s a shift away from a more volatile industry...well, ok then. Ok.
Who’s up for another crack at Wagon Wheel in August? Me. I want to put the fiddle riffs where they belong. And this time we have to sing. Yes. Really. We’ll sing it. I’ll harmonize. It won’t be that bad.
Anyone want a lichen-hued, pollen-covered, nonoperational minivan? Right. Thought not. (No, you can’t jump it either. But you can call AAA and have them tow it to Hondaman.)
1 comment:
otay! wagon wheel. right on :)
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