Nanowrimo

I've decided that this year I'm going to do NanoWrimo and write me a novel. Yes, I am. Well, I'm going to attempt to write 50,000 words in a month. While having a day job that sucks the soul out of any creative activity. I figure it's either do something mighty, or consider homicidal rampages as an alternative career. At the moment the novel is about a girl, Sive, that goes missing. Twenty years later, her best friend John and her sister, Meredith set out to find out what happened to their sister and friend.

I start tomorrow morning. I'm unfeasibly excited!

Charles Bukowski, Guru

Oh Charles, Chuck, can I call you Chuck?, you are awesome in your dead, drunk, male way. I would give much to have been one of your mad females.

"The nine-to-five is one of the greatest atrocities sprung upon mankind. You give your life away to a function that doesn't interest you. This situation so repelled me that I was driven to drink, starvation, and mad females, simply as an alternative."
—Sunlight Here I Am: Interviews & Encounters 1963-1993, 2003

Oh yes. Oh yes, yes, yes. That's exactly it.

I have to go file now and watch my soul seep out through a paper cut.

Back in the building

Oh, would you look at that. She's back. For now. So, I think it's safe to say now, here, in the presence of no one in particular, this is going to be one of those relationships. I think it's safe to say that I'm not going to be the guy that your father hoped you would end up with. I'm the guy that had his own 'apartment' (read - shack out the back of Guido's butcher shop which doesn't have electricity, running water, heating, airconditioning, a floor and the 'windows' were actually holes punched by Guido when he was going through his 'drinking' phase) in high school because Mum was an alcoholic and Dad fled to find gold and never returned. In short, I was cool. Seventeen cool, but now we're older, we've been through some stuff, you're desperately trying to remember your seventeen year old self and why the hell you loved this unreliable, flee in the middle of the night deadbeat that has lost his boyish grin.

I don't know. I've got my own problems, like not being a good blogger. Maybe it's your fault. Maybe your the one who nagged and nagged until you drove me away into the arms of something that isn't virtual. Maybe I'm just projecting. We'll never know because I'm not the 'talk about my problems' kind of guy. You will try and change me but it's never going to happen.

Anyway, I'm back. I've got my shit together, I'm thinking about a future. Calm down, and make me a cup of tea little lady. We got a lot to catch up on.