Three years

I started blogging three years ago on June 6. I think that equates to about 75 human years. But the original iteration of the site doesn’t survive, so you’ll have to take my word for it.

Frankly, the anniversary depresses me. Three years, and I still haven’t finished my goddamned novel. Worse than that: I abandoned the first one in late 2003 and started a second. Meanwhile, my OCD tendencies rage unabated. I’m still a slob. And I remain estranged from my parents. I’m more estranged from them, actually: I used to talk to my mother. (At least my life is mercifully devoid of small dogs, pee-soaked carpets, and cinnamon potpourri now. Not to mention self-congratulatory reminiscences about past mothering strategies.)

Time to change the subject, though, lest I break out the brown liquor.

I’ve made a pact with Mark to finish a full first draft of my novel by [mumble mumble]. (Yeah, the deadline was June 1, originally. But 63,000 words, and I’m still not done.) So please expect things to slow down later this month and early next.


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