Dear Jack Frost,
Stop nipping at my nose, you sonofabitch.
Woke up this morning and the first words that popped into my mind were “witch’s tit”, though why that particular nipple should be colder than others is beyond my ken, darlings, so don’t ask me to explain it.
Went to start my car — engine block frozen. How much is this going to cost?
So yeah, it’s really fucking cold here. But before you start making jokes about Canada being the GREAT WHITE NORTH, may I remind you that I am in the Florida of Canada — there are at least a dozen US states that are further north than I am — I’m looking at you, Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota et al…
But seriously, it’s colder than a Klondike coochie. Work with me, darlings, it was alliterative.
Made alternate arrangements to get to work, somehow still made it here before the boss — surprise surprise.
I know it’s hump day, but did I really have to catch two of my co-workers making out in the copy room?
To make things worse, the only song I can think of with Wednesday in the title is a forgettable Simon & Garfunkel track, which I won’t burden you with.
Nearing the 30,000 word mark with Jessica’s new novel. I’d make some superlative expletive (try saying that five times fast) but the fact of the matter is, you all know I’m prolific — but when my powers are focused on one project they’re like some sort of laser beam.
“Do you expect me to talk, Goldfinger?”
“No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die!”
My brain, like that belly dancer in the U2 song (or God, if you read your Old Testament) works in mysterious ways.
Miracle of miracles, I just remembered a great old Elvis Costello B-Side (’cause my mind’s a sponge like that) called Wednesday Week.
It’s got this fantastic line in it: “You’re fantastic, you’re terrific, your excellence is almost scientific. You took the words out of my mouth, you put the tongue into my cheek, but I’d better lose my memory by Wednesday week.”
You’re welcome, darlings.
See you tomorrow.