Good nyews, everyone! My friend Christy has resurrected her online journal called One Page Stories. I'm going to be in it. Here's one sentence from the story that is going to be in it:
Disoriented, I picked up the receiver, and waited for the black-and-white monitor to kick on and show me what was happening outside.
I'm almost done with a personal essay. It is in the final scab-picking phase, which is the phase when you wait a little while for a scab to appear over the story and then you pull the scab off and wait for the story to scab over again. Here is a sentence from that essay:
It was a trite choice, but appropriate -- the reproach toward she who used to dress so fine and laugh about everybody that was hanging out, but now has to make a deal with the mystery tramp, had never made so much sense.
The three old stories I'm tinkering with currently are: "Hotels," "Grasshopper's Funeral," and "Keepin' Together." I am not going to include any lines from those.
I feel over-focused aka obsessed. I'm home for the weekend and I think my parents are annoyed by the constant presence of my laptop at the table where we eat our meals.
My parents are fine. We watched the Fred Astaire movie Swing Time, which has a lot of gambling in it, and then talked about how common gambling used to be in the 1930s. While cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, my stepfather and I reminisced about the time when I was ten and I asked him what "As salaam alaikum" meant, and he told me it meant "I like salami" or, translated directly, "it is salami that I like." I knew that he was kidding, and that he thought I knew the answer already, so to avoid humiliation I had to go find out on my own.