The Bloody Doors Off

So I’m bringing the laptop with me this weekend.

Turns out I can’t stand the idea of a period of time without writing.

Whether it’s a play or a blog post.

Naturally, the damned thing hasn’t run serious updates since March and is gonna take half the night to refresh.

At least I can tether it to the ethernet. The damned wifi is so slow for it.

Why do I always seem to attract the wrong machinery?

I do my research.

Clearly not well enough.

No surprise then, I can be quite clueless sometimes, when it comes to other matters.

Can’t read people so easily.

Subtext, while crucial in any story, eludes me in real life.

Steve Martin, when he did stand-up, had a joke.

Because it was impossible to meet single women, he suggested they have a particular object (I’ll spare you the details; it’d turn your stomach) attached to their shoes. You saw that, you knew how to approach her.

Same premise. Sometimes you’ve gotta hit me upside the head with what you want.

I want new teeth.

Thursday feels forever away.

I tried to eat a grilled cheese sandwich this morning.

You hear about people ‘gumming’ their food.

I’ve got first-hand knowledge of how it feels.

And I’m feeling anxious for this laptop to finish updating.

Because now that I know I wanna write while I’m cottaging (hey that’s an actual word), I need the laptop updated. I need to load the new version of Final Draft, copy over my short plays in case I want to edit.

To make a long story short.

My father-in-law would say that. I knew him for a short time, but I truly liked him. And whenever he told a story, which was (to me) often, Allan would eventually wrap it up with “to make a long story short…”.

They’re engraving that on his headstone.

There’s so much love there. Don’t you think?

I think I need dinner.

What’ll I gum tonight?