Churning Urn of Burning Funk

Since Last We Met

• I sat next to the Archbishop at dinner on St. Patrick's Day. He was good company, even if he did leave before my third beer.
• If my arms slip off my desk, I will not be able to type any more. Four shots yesterday: tetanus; Hep A, B; typhoid. I was due. There are bruises.
• Are there other people out there who delete every forward that comes their way? My sweet cousin Maya sent me a "flat" version of herself. I just re-read that sentence. Excuse me while I sound like an angry old woman. Flat Maya was much harder to delete. So I sent it to France. Let that be a lesson to any of you kids out there, with your paper dolls.
  

This Sh*t Will Blow Your Minds
And if it doesn't, why didn't you tell me before?
The more I learn about something, the harder it is... Or the more simple a concept, the more trouble it causes. (Subtraction has always been a problem for me.) Last night at improv--(Woops, that's right, I don't talk here about my nightlife as an improvisational comedy warlord. That's the other blog.)--we talked about story arc. And Holy Cats!
You mean that there's no reason to be coy; my character can just state my objectives? MMMWhaaa? Well, kick me in the face! And at the end, the story must make good on the promise it made in the first scene!
The culprit: reading non-linear books. Messes up the whole brain process. Only Jane Austen for me from now on.