things i’m not writing about

I haven’t done a Ulysses update for a bit, so here goes: I don’t think I’m going to finish it by the end of November. I wonder if maybe the pages started reproducing or something because it seems like there are more of them than there were when I first cracked open the book (for the fifth time, give or take) and that is both unsettling and annoying. I don’t know. Will I succeed? Will I fail? Oh, the suspense! But if I do make it through by the end of the month (even if November 30th comes and goes without me having passed the finish line I’m still going to finish reading the damn thing just so I will finally be done with it and don’t have to do it ever again) someone buy me a drink. Because I will deserve one. Damnation.

Anyway! Hello, boys and girls! How are you? Me? Oh, I’m fine. Up to my usual hijinks, yesterday I accidentally flashed my boobs at the FedEx man, and I’m still unemployed. So, you know. Just normal stuff, really. Uh, let’s see… I had a weird dream last night about this guy I used to know. It involved drinking and a car chase. But since it would take too long to explain why it was entirely hilarious and completely random of me to dream about this guy, I’m not going to write about that, and instead I’m going to write about something else.

And what will that be? Well, I could go with the spam I got from Kermit (I’m not kidding! Kermit!) with the subject line “Ëver wanted to imprêss the ladíes when the þants come down?” which was priceless for about 9,000 reasons, not least of which being the fact that Kermit doesn’t even wear pants. But since I have already covered the entire topic in that one sentence, maybe that wouldn’t be such a great idea.

Earlier I was outside with the dog while the dog tried to smell every individual snowflake on the ground, I swear, and I stood under a maple tree in a pile of that snow and looked ahead at the sky, which was a strange gradient: charcoal gray to pink. Not a star in sight. And I craned my neck and looked up through the branches of the maple tree, at the fractal geometry of the stubborn leftover leaves against the weirdo pink sky and it was beautiful and unsettling at the same time, yeah, beautiful and unsettling, like maybe a still out of a Hitchcock film, had he ever made a movie called Fuck, I Hate Winter, which of course he didn’t, so I can’t write about that either.