Sweat The Rent
Thursday. I do have a rule about writing with a whole bunch of alcohol inside. Don't. The printer is printing in the background, the first of three photographs requested by two ladies who appear in the Gay Pride parade section of artandlife. Nice to be able to do that. And, what the hell, "a whole bunch of alcohol" boils down to two and a half ounces of whiskey mixed with water consumed over a period of three hours. Even I laugh. Still enough to fuck up the writing, although it also loosens it up and makes it flow and there's always the cold light of dawn and something called edit. You write long enough in this life and you learn it's mostly about edit. Edit, edit. On a Thursday, after work, waiting for edit in Oakland.
Friday. Pretty good day, today. Be curious how it goes tomorrow. Up and down like a yo-yo is not a great step forward, but I have this feeling that whatever ails me is going away. Or is that like the economy? It's just around the corner. It's coming real soon now. Don't sweat the rent.
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