First, just to clear up any *potential* rumors from yesterday’s post: No bun in the oven. I mean, really… baby + marathon = bad idea. You’ll have to guess again at my little secret that doesn’t involve a baby. I mean, if you want. It’s not like a requirement. More like something better to do when work has decided to beat you over the head with a frying pan.
Anyway…on to more pressing matters: No one told me that writing a book completely removes you from reality. I had to call Tim yesterday to try and bring me back into the here-and-now.
I was all, “Hi. It’s me.”
Me: Just needed to talk to a human who spoke English. Rabbit’s apparently don’t speak English. They speak rabbit.
Tim: You’re writing, aren’t you?
Me: No, actually, I think I was in a forest with lots of snow…talking to a rabbit or rabbit-fox…a fabbit…or a rox…something furry.
Tim: Yes, definitely writing. Well, by the way, today is Wednesday. And it isn’t cold enough to be snowing.
Me: WEDNESDAY? Shit! Wednesday is when it explodes! And temperature doesn’t matter. Snow shoots out of the tree limbs whenever it feels like it.
You see? There is no hope for me…until December 1.
I’m lost somewhere between I have no fucking clue and I have no fucking clue. Wherever the fabbits are…that’s where you can find me. And when you do, call me Secka and lead me by hand to the nearest bus station. I’ve got an emergency 8.5″x11″ laminated (thanks, honey!) poster with my address and an elastic band in my pocket. Find Gus the bus driver. He knows what to do.
I’ve decided to post pictures. To remind me that I am actually a human.
This was a sunset from the other week…from the backyard…I think.
I’m very sad I will not be here for Thanksgiving this year.
I will be somewhere else.
Actually, I’ll still be helplessly lost if someone doesn’t get their lazy ass up and come find me.
That’d be the right thing to do, you know.
I know Tim would probably appreciate it.
He might even send you a picture from his gallery.
Depending on my state of return, though. Cause if I come back speaking fabbit, well, then we’re all fucked.