Wound up. Listening to iPod mix, there is a smell of burnt popcorn coming from someone in the building. Had an odd call just as the ppv was starting, about doing tarot readings at the next psychic fair. Might do it, we'll have to see what the cost of running a booth will be.
Very happy that the Pack won. At one point when they were coming to the ring, it looked like the Mad Hatter was about to start dancing to the theme music, then stopped cold, like he remembered his character is suppose to be uber serious.
Heard from the Musician this afternoon. Haven't heard from him in what, a year? Then today out of nowhere he emailed. I swear it was just one whacked out day. I mean, between the whole thing with Pizza Dude, the tarot lady and everything. It's nights like this I just have to wonder...
Mr. Scratchy, Herman, I have no idea if you're checking in tonight or not, but if you do, just wanted to say hey.
Hey.
I imagine you having a few beers, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, no shirt, no shoes, those wire rimmed glasses off, checking in after either being part of the big ppv or having been there with a buddy who was. Maybe you're rolling your eyes at me for mentioning the Mad Hatter, wondering what song is on my iPod right now. (Love Like Mine from the Nashville tv show soundtrack)
Tomorrow, back to the projects I've been ignoring all week, and try to finish another four chapters of the novel's first draft. Need to get the first draft done before I overdose on the Mad Hatter and stop liking him. That always seems to be when I get writer's block. When the shine of the crush wears off.
Herman, dream of blue martinis and discos.
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