the panic was over

I.

There's something about deadlines and a damn full schedule that always simultaneously makes my brain:

1) Kick into high gear and start thinking up all sorts of writing ideas that I won't be able to get out of me before I lose them...

and

2) COMPLETELY MELT DOWN!

SHAMPOO FIRST OR SHAVE MY LEGS O GOD I DON'T KNOOOOWW

II.

Mainly I want to commit to writing about Hideous Man #6, widely regarded as the most troublesome HM of all. The only real hideous man in the entire book, if you ask John Krasinski. Do I agree? I don't know yet. Last year I did. Now? Not so sure.

In a lit forum I frequent (well, sometimes), somebody posted a link to that part of the story recently. I knew I shouldn't read it again, but I did, very closely. I suppose it's probably obvious to anybody who knows me well the reason why that particular interview grips me in a bad way. I don't mind saying it ruined my day, really. Again. Apparently the day-ruining is worthwhile, though, or I wouldn't come back for more.

Don't know what I want to do with it. I'm not much for deconstruction. But we'll fiddle with its piggilies and prod its armpits, to see how it reacts. And maybe make it puts the lotion on its... oh, never mind.

That'll be in a couple weeks. For now: verily, verily ....another shall carry me whither I wouldest not.

III.

This song feels like the story of my life right now. Not my love life, just my life. Usually when people say, "Anything could happen," they mean it in a good way. I don't think Ellie does, though. Neither do I.

And it could. Anybody, anytime, anywhere. To you.

Is there a version of Zen Buddhism where you learn to accept reality as it is, to smile and remain unruffled... but also to give that fucker the nine-yard stare for being a goddamn Earth-vexing pignut?

You know. As opposed to the 1000-yard stare.

Can I sign up?