jubilantIn about an hour and fifteen minutes,
readingthedark will arrive. I'm taking the day off to talk to an actual person. You know, like face-to-face talk. People used to do that shit all the time, in all those millennia BBG (Before Bill Gates).Yesterday was spent putting together the digest. And watching the interviews roll in. And getting some reprint requests out to editors. And on other sundry email. Exciting as raisin bran. Uh...raisin bran. Yeah, that was a little odd, wasn't it? As I was trying to fall asleep this morning, Spooky and I had a conversation about what breakfast cereals we ate as little kittehs. Ergo, my only seemingly inexplicable mention of raisin bran. Then again, raisins being what they are and bran being what it is, I see now how this entire digression was completely unnecessary. Never mind.
I'm in a Doris Day mood. But there's no Doris Day on the iPod, so I'm settling for St. Vincent. Blame Geoffrey, because he's bringing over a can of David Lynch's coffee. And donuts. It's that last part that worries me. Seems this will be an indulgence day. I need a fresh pack of American Spirits. Maybe we'll watch Fire Walk With Me.
That's all for now, kittens. If you must play in the street, look both ways and don't forget to wear a condom (yes, the girl kittens, too). Oh, look! Ebay auctions! How did those things get in?
Probably Not,
Aunt Beast
