oh, good lord!

oh, shit! I wrote a book! I've been stumbling around all day in a stupor. I was up until 3:00 AM and got up around 11. I went to the blue star for the best pancakes in town and to do a second draft of the epilogue.

I also had "cheese grits." they used to be really good, really cheesy, kind of down home cheesy, and today they tasted like garlic and salt. not altogether bad, but it's 8:00 PM and I'm still thirsty.

I didn't work on the epilogue. I read through the versions I have (so I guess that's considered work), but the people around me were more interesting, and I was too interesting to them, sitting there looking the way I do (somewhat shabby compared to the others), so I ate and listened, and looked.

maybe I'm just being paranoid, maybe they weren't looking at me at all. I guess I feel like they should be looking at me, 'cause I wrote a fucking novel!

I threfted {sic}, found a cool cap and another pair of khakis which were supposed to be short-makin's for S, but they didn't fit him, so I traded him for a pair of cutoffs I've been meaning to sew the inseam on, but he didn't seem to mind them the way they are. In fact, his words: "They're perfect."

After that I picked up the produce, and I'm now stuck on remembering if I went anywhere directly after that or if I came home after that. --well, more recently, I got high and masturbated, so I'm in a special way with myself right now. that and the fact that I printed out my 113,363 words today, then copied them four times. It cost me $100. It felt like money well-spent.

I smoked a cigarette in the truck with the windows open. the air was dry but the 100°+ sun was beaming down strong on me. my b.o. smells different, rare, strong; skunky. I like it. I think it's the chemistry with the pheromones in it that makes it smell that way and/or makes me react that way to it. sexy...

oh, I smell different in different situations, don't you? (And aren't I a witty writer!)

I also went to the grocery store to return some antifungal lotion I inadvertently bought. I picked up a video of a popular standup who I won't name because it would date this entry (and I haven't watched it so I don't know if it's good yet), stopped for half a dozen plain glazed donuts from the nice Indian man at Mrs. Johnson's (who was Mrs. Johnson?). He told me the plain glazed weren't hot, suggested a variety of cake donuts they have - which were hot - and I hemmed and hawed and said okay, and he gave me four plain glazed in the box with the half dozen cake, "for the microwave."

S made breakfast tacos for dinner, I had a beer with mine. He had schoolwork so I got high, got inspired to write down "Holy Shit! I wrote a book!" or something like that (before the shower and video), and I'm sure it all sounded a lot better in my head.

And here I am.