cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dammit Aarggghhhh! Fuck fuck fuck. I should never have announced my day off on Facebook. Immediately on arrival at home I was greeted with phone calls asking me to do shit right in the middle of the fucking day, 40 minutes drive away from where I was planning to be. Fuck fuck fuck. I have been roped into a social obligation that I do not know how to get out of. I do not want to sit in someone's front lawn and drink beer all day. I am going to read fucking Plato at the University and do some writing. Why can the world at large not get it into their heads that this is my fucking job now? The flood of email continues. Some woman from the Village Voice about an article she's doing; my publisher's wife about the article; some strange conservative weirdos from near DC who want me to teach a class exclusively for their family and I don't know for sure what to charge them. Also a bunch of other ones that I haven't even read yet. This is just from the last few hours. I realize that these are all of the busy trappings of success and I should not complain. I have so much correspondence to catch up on and I feel terrible about getting behind. Faulkner and Hemingway seemed to have secretaries to deal with this sort of thing. That is what I need. Some lovely woman who makes tea and takes the mails in hand and gives me blowjobs. The mistress always gets the better coverage in biographies than the wife does. You know, I've never actually read Faulkner. Never cared to. He lived right here near me in the last few years before his death. I did not write today. Not properly. I seemed to have a hundred of little things to attend to and didn't write a word aside from emails and diary entries. Even now, look at me. Pissing away time by writing this when I should be writing intelligent responses to people's kind yet insistent inquiries of me. This is all coming together very tidily. I am rapidly creating the career and lifestyle of a professional writer, as intended. As far as lifestyle is concerned, I was already half-way there in the sense of being generally broke half the time. One might as well be broke half the time and at least enjoy the relative freedom from daily drudgery and the company of whiny libertines with loose morals. 10:09 p.m. - 2010-08-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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