Well, I finished 'The Bridge to Camas Swale', the novel I mentioned before, and have set it through quite a few revisions now. I took a few weeks off to keep up in the small press to some extent and am now about half way through a second novel. I imagine I'll continue doing this until I'm dead. If the worst happens, these novels will just end up on my hard drive next to the stageplays, screenplays, collections of novellas, books of short stories, and the other 64 books of poetry I've penned and revised the shit out of, at this point.
Wait... there's a crazy woman two booths down from me that keeps singing nonsensical words and telling me (I'm the only other one here in this restaurant) that she'd give up college if she had a boyfriend and that there's nothing wrong using an animal. I'm not entirely sure what she is inferring by this. Is she talking the whole 'men are like animals' thing, or something more like 'I make love with quadripeds'?
Now she's singing 'Cherish the Moment', but making up a lot of the words.
Shit, she's talking to me again. She's asking me if they make the cheesecake rightside up.
Another customer came in and was promptly approached by the crazy woman, who told the new customer (a hispanic woman), that both of them were ugly and deserved it. The hispanic woman ended up shouting curse words at the crazy woman in very fast, staccato spanish, and then angrily left. Huh.
And there we go, the crazy woman has just thrown her coffee cup across the room. Now they're escorting her out.
This is much more fun than creating the 14th chapter in my new novel.
Anyway, I'm tired. I'm going home. Goodnight. This more domestic and oblique form of madness is generally distracting, and I have a baby at home to cuddle anyway.