the problem with smashing things in the confines of your own apartment is that you then have to clean up the mess. vacuuming makes the echo of flying splinters recede faster than i'd like. as you may have guessed, i had a self-provoked moment of insanity and took a baseball bat to a plate. abusing dishes (of the hard plastic variety) will hopefully not make me an ogre in your eyes. i promise you, i felt remorse and i handled the remains with the utmost compassion (and by that i mean i tried not to cut myself as i cleaned up my temper tantrum). maybe chocolate fixes chemical imbalances. at the very least, a good book can usually distract me from a visit to the Imperial Castle of Unstable (ICU). this past weekend's project was stephen king's book On Writing. i highly recommend it, if for no other reason than you get to take a walk down memory lane with a man who has scared the piss out of millions (perhaps billions?) of people. his writing advice is heavily based on intuition and repetition, so it won't help someone looking for 20 fast and easy steps to becoming the next j.k. rowling, but his tone is optimistic and it left me in the mood to practice.
on the agenda for the next few days:
- the botanical gardens (trip #2 to finish the photos for a calendar i'm making my grandmother)
- the opening for the staff art show at octane
- ann patchett's newest book Run
2 comments:
Well, at least it was a plastic dish. Somehow that sounds safer than ceramic or glass. But I'm not sure.
What do the Manimals do while you're smashing plates?. Wait, can I guess? Petey hides while Fatty hurriedly checks to make sure you aren't smashing her food bowl.
Next up: Train the Manimals to talk so we can hold group therapy sessions together. Then we say fuck it and go to a shooting range.
Post a Comment