Thursday’s pondering was just a little exercise in literary masturbation, I guess. It’s really a true story, but I never seriously considered contacting the guy. I think that, all in all, I was more into him than he was into me, and I’m pretty comfortable with that.
It’s good to know, though, that there are so many Planet SOMA readers who are eager and anxious to step into the no doubt tasteful shoes of Miss Manners.
Another productive week, as it happens. Knocked out several web pages for hire, I finally got an appointment for PG&E to come fix my oven, and my porn stories for Boardboys were approved for later publication, which means both that I can to add “published author of literary erotica” to my list of credentials, and that I’ll be able to pay the rent for another month.
And no, writing porn is not quite as, ummm, stimulating as it sounds. It’s not horrible work either, but I wasn’t exactly moved to the point of having to stop and masturbate every five minutes.
I also reinstalled my computer at the evil part-time job, which was no small task and resulted in much profanity since it’s a Winblows machine rather than a much superior Mac or Unix box. I bought a few books. And I started the massive cleanup which signals a pending Mom visit.
I’m not a really bad housekeeper, believe it or not. But there are certain things I only do every two or three (or seven or eight) years, like dusting the chair rail and the dish shelf, and tackling the astonishing amount of grime which collects in my medicine cabinet. I don’t understand; the door is closed 23 hours and 58 minutes a day. How does it get so damned disgusting? Am I using the wrong toothpaste or shaving cream?
Yes, I know. The house will never be quite clean to the standards of the average mom, even though mine is definitely not a neat freak. But we have to try, after all.
And if any of you happen to be roaming about South of the Slot tonight, I’m even thinking of hitting the corner bars for a semi-miraculous second Saturday night out in a row. Come on down…