I worked thirteen hours on Tuesday; I worked fourteen hours today. Overtime is awesome, and I'm sure the money is going to come in handy just in time to bail me out of whatever ridiculous swing of circumstance comes up next. (I'm convinced, from previous experience, that I'm not actually allowed to have personal savings. It's a funny story. Maybe later.) But this doesn't leave much time for writing, and I'm just now getting home from work, and the Mardi Gras thing was five days ago already.
Then, what with me having figured I'd made up my mind on what I'd be writing about next, can you guess what was sitting in my mailbox when I got home tonight?
Oh! Oh! Bitch, you did not just! You wait your turn! Stop mailing me these things at least once a week!
Man, I don't even have time to get good and uppity about this! I have to be waking up in six hours! What's a brother to do with himself, these days?
Next time! I don't know what, but something's going to get good and written!
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