There’s a restaurant in downtown Nanaimo where you can pick up the world’s best grilled cheese sandwich. They call it “the classic,” and it lives up to its name. Top that off with a pretty decent cup of black coffee, and you have yourself a perfect meal anytime of the day that you so please.
I feel like Bruce Springsteen. I’m sick of sitting around here trying to write this book. The book, the novel, the novella, and everything associated with it has been consuming my days and nights these last few weeks. It’s why I haven’t been posting. Believe me, I’d rather be blogging my brains out than slogging through revision and re-writes of the fucking novel.
But hey, it’s work towards something better.
I turn 25 in a few days. I don’t have any feelings about it. I think I stopped caring about how old I was back when I turned 22. There were no more milestones, except maybe turning 30, or 40, or 50. So bring on the mid-twenties, I’m sure I can look it up in surveys conducted by medical journals how important or formative or enjoyable it is as a series of time.
I’ve been smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too much coffee. Probably trying to stave off the February blues. It’s the grayness that gets to me out here on the coast. Just day after day after day of grey skies and rain. It’s enough to drain a person. Whatever, summer is coming, summer and changes. I don’t know what those are, but it’s the time of year when they all usually happen.
Things are good and things are bad. I still have my problems, and those problems all seem more obvious and prevalent when everything in my life seems to be going my way. I’ll work through it though.
Right now though, I need to be working on this article. A paid writing gig is something one should stay up late for.