I have nothing else to say about the hurricane.

I have been trying to write my stories for like two hours I promise.

Seth is learning a song by Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. It’s very nice to listen to on the classical guitar. This is the guitar with the wider spaces between the strings. I’m not sure why this is necessary, but it makes one of the prettiest noises in the universe. Aside from the cello.

I’m mystified by all the crazies out there who can watch someone play the guitar on television, or hear them on the radio or the compact disc and then replicate the same sounds on their own instruments. Mystified like Fleetwood Mac.

Maybel the dog is being lazy and sleeping beneath him.

I have a cup of tea. It’s a little cool. Fall is coming! I might have to put on a long-sleeved t-shirt!

I’m writing on my lap top, watching this whole thing progress. It’s actually a nice scene. You know I’m all about the scenes.

It’s the kind of thing that comes to close to what you picture pleasant evening of marriage might look like. Even though I’m working on a Sunday, I like it. Anyway I have to make up for that day off I took on labor day.

The thing about my job, which I’m sure many other jobs are like this, is that a day off = five days of work being condensed into four. It’s really not a day off. It’s a day lost, I guess.

Things would be a lot easier right now if I played the mandolin.

Here’s the deal.

The festival, shall we say, that I attended this weekend, creeped me out for several reasons.

Exhibit A: Elvis groping a group of preteen beauty queens.

Exhibit B: a long hug, and a poorly-timed “I love you” from the president of the festival.

Exhibit C: strange innuendos among the aforementioned preteens, the mayor, and a man on a golf cart.

Exhibit D: the trailer. (don’t ask)

All that was missing was another lesson from the carnies. Thank goodness I only felt their presence and did not actually make contact with one.

I have about, oh, I don’t know, 80 or so inches of copy to write before tomorrow. Ha! Oh well. We will have to make it a triple grande mocha morning.

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  • cat.

    please, please please, expand on the exhibits. after your copy, of course. i will meet any request of yours, i promise.

  • Mae

    I knew we’d trap him the Gillian LoveFest! Good one, Lynds.