Wednesday, February 16, 2011 |
Another fantastic day in the life of me! The conversations--the flow of ideas, the wit, the sheer companionship--pardon me, most precious confidante, while I pause to catch my breath and savour the last twenty-four hours while deliciously contemplating the next.
And the people, the people, oh, the people along the way! You might just as well line the corridors of my life with gilded mirrors or George Clooney--that's how it shines--my life, that is.
The places I go. The experiences I've had. The adventure of it all. You call it magical, dearest diary. I call it Monday.
The food tastes better wherever I am. The sky is bluer. The birds sing better songs. Trees bend at the waist when they see me coming.
I am loved--boy, am I loved! Everyone adores me and why not?
I'm young. Beautiful. Brilliant. I have great hair. I love freely--make of that whatever you will.
It's a scratch-and-sniff world, dear diary. Have tongue, will travel. Ha Ha!
Oh, my. Well, dear diary, it must be apparent that I didn't write the above. The exclamation points are the giveaway. This is what happens when you teach a shih tzu to read and write.
I tried to talk to Ned about impersonating me in print--after all, I'm a published author with a reputation to uphold. Enraged, his response was to quote George Taylor from Planet of the Apes: "The way you humiliated me? You led me around on a LEASH."
Fortunately, for both of us, Ned is currently en route to Mustique--Sting's Irish Wolfhounds wouldn't take no for an answer.
As for me, dear diary, I spent all day at my desk, alone, as usual, writing, as usual. I started with 40,000 words. After twelve hours I had 39,000.
I threw caution to the wind and ate two bananas today. My foot felt numb. I changed my socks. Checked my email--or should I say, Ned's email. He has hundreds of friends.
I can't figure out how I got on The Biggest Loser's mailing list.
It's this new novel, dear diary, I'm stuck at the half-way point. I feel like one of those guys crossing Niagara Falls on a tight rope. I've come too far to turn back but that doesn't mean that I want to go forward.