OCTOBER 26, 1988. It's raining and I'm limboed again. At a diner called "Donut Donut". It's smoky as hell. I'm being ignored by the waitress, which is fine. Not really hungry, just buying time.

I've been re-reading Sam Shepard's 'Motel Chronicles'. Really vivid vignettes that create a strong sense of place,

I do a lot of window shopping. Window shopping for personal growth. Window shopping for spiritual awakening.

Now is later. The later of "I'll get to it later".

Just had a long song singing session. I wasn't singing long songs, I was singing songs for a long time - just to be clear. 

Why? Why would I keep an Uncle O'Grimacey hand puppet for 32 years?

I just spent the last hour and a half working on a post that went nowhere.

Eating corndogs in a station wagon in the parking lot of the county fair.

I really could have used the boost. And the ten thousand dollars.

there aren't many things i miss about new york, but writing in cafes is one of them.

I've always felt like there's a key piece of information I'm missing that explains how everything works.

i don't know what i do all day...

the neurotic woman in writing group this morning - so bumbling and hyper self-conscious...

My Mom's parents had a cocker spaniel named Twinkletoes that they fed too much.

i tried to shoot a bird with a bb gun when i was thirteen...

In the film 'The Room', the phrase "Don't worry about it" is said eight times.