I worked all day on a special project for Kikay and as I write this I’ve spent approximately 20 minutes staring at the Internet wondering what else to do before the inevitably similar day tomorrow. Within that 20 minutes I finally wrote a ‘spiel’ to send to people interested in advertising at Mom Exchange, whose instructions I finalized a few days ago, no doubt again similar to this one in terms of busyness (yes another invented word. I just like making them up so shoot me).
At any rate, herewith are random thoughts from my vegged out mind minutes away from going beddy night night.
On my bedside is the marvelous One Hundred Years Of Solitude by – need I say who wrote it but I’ll say it anyway why not – Gabriel Garcia Marquez. A book which in my opinion, he probably wrote whilst on a perpetual narcotic induced high. Because Jesus H Christ, how could someone write something so magnificent as that. It’s the sort of thing you kind of drone on throughout, turning page after page before you realize that what seemed initially like a continuous tide of ill connected events is actually starting to frame itself into a story which is, without you knowing it, taking you on a ride.
If it weren’t for the spectacularly corny musical score,