An evening spent relaxing. Dinner at the French Market, followed by reading in bed and sleeping early.
Reading "A Son of the Circus" by John Irving, started slow but has hooked my imagination as I head into the home stretch.
I woke up at 2:00 a.m. my side of the bed drenched in sweat, I am soaked head to foot. I guess my body had some toxic matter to dispense with. Later I dreamed that Shitting Glitter was on a tour of Russia, the details are blurry but I do recall we were treated well so we must have been in demand.
Tonight I intend to rent a room where I can Loudly record my guitar, I am giddy at the prospect.
1 comment:
What have you to say about Mother Russia, mutha fucka?
If you go to Russia and need a trans., call me.
I can also interpret between Russian and English.
har! cheap-ass "Will & Grace" style joke in your face, Buckie boy! Why you don't bring the funk lately? You leave your mark on my blog...
and you ALSO post comments on my digital memoir compendium (har! can't help my cheap-ass self).
Point is: Buckie baby, you been blest. So Bring it! And don't tell me "It's already been brought-en!" Because it's been part-o-the-way broughten, but by no means broughten to its full potential.
As I command my clients:
Do it NOW, bitch!
(but that's another topic for another day. You just hop to it, Buckie. We talk soon.)
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