Monday, July 28, 2008

Sea Legs.

If and if that line back out towards Boone and parts pertaining thereunto holds together, we're in for rain. This I don't so much think was in the forecast, but they've upped by a whopping 10% our storm chances for the night, and there's green and even a little yellow and red out on that left edge of the radar, and this is all part and parcel of a kind of basketball-shaped cluster of something that rumbled its way across Kentucky and Tennessee earlier today, the kind of thing where if you close one eye, you think, That might get here, and if you close the other, you think, That will probably just clear the mountains and rain on the wineries out west of Winston but will surely peter out before it manages to carry itself all the way out here to my humble abode.

Still: Come on, basketball thing.

Here was a day spent trying to figure how to get my sea legs out from underneath me and get fixed in place my whatever they call the kind of legs you need to buckle down and draft those last thirty pages once more and then even maybe perhaps begin a new thing— whatever those legs are, I spent today not really finding them, meandering my way through lunch and what administrative tasks there were that needed to be completed so the electric company would not come and, say, remove my electricity, and purchasing ink at Ink Depot so I can hang up photographs of brown pelicans and snowy egrets and willets out here in the shed so that if I can get motivated to hit those last thirty pages another time, get that thing bundled and sent to whomever will stoop to look at it, I can then lean back in this chair and stare at my bad photos and start trying to think thoughts in another voice, a different voice, a voice that might carry me through another hundred thousand some-odd words. A voice that will produce sentences with fewer comma errors than that one we just slogged through. Do as I say, interns (those kids don't even read this any more, because now that NBC bought the Weather Channel, they're all angling for the big time), and not as I splice.

I'll give us 40% for the evening—I'll see the fancies' 10%, and raise them 10%—but I still feel like (hey, how math works) our chances are better for not getting it than getting it. A can of cold beer out here late evening in the ANYLF WeatherAnnex, and a few pictures of birds and buildings hung on the wall. String and paper clips. Tonight's projects: Figure out whether or not one ought capitalize the names of birds, and then add that to the ANYLF Manual of Style. Eat a few straggling cherry tomatoes. Look west and hope.

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