Well that was weird
Everybody said cataract surgery would be a cinch and it was, I guess, but holy shit
So that was yesterday and I had plans for today and tomorrow, you know, a little sightseeing, a little snacking, maybe some port – you know, nothing too gruelling – some fish-whispering and maybe a dark-as-in-not-bright movie like The Lighthouse and some whimsical clutter re-arranging and/or, if I have any steam left, a bout of semi-strategic plant repositioning and maybe a phone call or two.
I was the youngest person in there by far – a statement I had to dig up due to lack of use – and it’s probably because I could never keep track of my sunglasses and I might as well tell you right now that there were a few summers back then, strung together with winters I suppose, when I couldn’t keep track of my shoes either just so you understand the scale of my debauchery which was really quite wide-spread as in the entire northern hemisphere, mostly.
But that was then and I’m all grown up now. As you can plainly see. Which I can’t. My pupil is gigantic and holy fuck it’s bright and my eye is sort of quivery, you know, like it’s not quite done yet
I have the light on my laptop turned down to almost nothing right now and it’s still bright. It’s like 5:30am and dark and if it’s not cloudy today I will have to forego the sightseeing and do double fish-whispering (and port-ing) instead because I really think I’m starting to get through to those cold-blooded bastards, especially Gloria the yuppie, fuck off spellcheck she’s a guppy, who seems much calmer since the therapy began.
Also there have been no further instances of suicide – if that’s in fact what’s been going on – which I’m beginning to doubt. I am rather in the aquaticide camp of late and feel that probably, like Humpty Dumpty, the victims, which I had to peel off the floor, were pushed
I was also planning to work on Clutterbucks, which is one of those cases where the apostrophe has worn off over the years. As you know if you pay any attention at all, Clutterbucks is the novel I am currently writing and it started off as a sit-com as in screenplay format and is morphing into prose in a very novel way – sorry about that – and by novel I mean unique and by unique I hope I don’t mean wrong because in spite of writers and your mom who say there is no wrong, we all know that’s bullshit because there certainly is a wrong and it’s when people don’t get into the groove you’ve so carefully made.
But I think I am doing it right
My voice isn’t that different from the one you’re reading right now, you know, maybe not quite as casual but still it lends me the opportunity to be intimate with the audience/reader and I include the word audience because it’s really, in an almost invisible way, still a play.
If you know what I mean
And it’s more than the fact that I am calling chapters Episodes because it feels natural and I’m calling sections Seasons which also feels right. Also, just infrequently enough I hope, I slip into script mode to spare the reader (or maybe myself) some details that can be more effectively and efficiently accomplished in script format so you kind skip back and forth without really noticing or having to try. I hope.
me: sweating profusely
That’s sort of what I mean right there
Anyway, speaking of debauchery, it’s barely light out and I’m going to watch The Lighthouse now on my laptop so I can control the brightness and also so I can huddle up next to the fish because I think they might enjoy it too.
