Remember how I was going to post more often? Almost a month ago?
The thing is, what’s happening right now is absolutely nothing. I am working, I am writing, and I am watching The Sopranos. If you would like to hear about a story I’m writing, or the last episode I saw, I am here for you.
Otherwise, I’m sorry, but I am even more boring than usual.
A lot of people talk about a period of time where they just do this or that, scraping by with menial, embarrassing work. These are the lost months in autobiographies, long blank spaces that the author chooses not to mention. It’s hard to imagine now that there might be an autobiography down the road, though I’d love to believe my life will someday justify one. Maybe I ask too much.
Anyhow, that’s the story, Wishbone. There’s no story. Maybe in a couple months I’ll sell a screenplay or have a real job (that may actually pay worse than my fake one), and then there’ll be a reason you’re here. For now, you have to be satisfied with my occasional ramblings.