I am so glad that Gawker pointed this out. I read this same article this morning about the big books coming out this fall and also paused at Frank Rich's inclusion along with all the blockbuster writers, knowing that he was just included because he writes for The New York Times.
And I read this, both of these things along with countless others, because there has been no work to do at my job since eleven o'clock. I am running out of things to read online, but luckily there is only another hour or so left until I am free to run out the door, into the street, and home, home, home, before here, there, and there.
Despite the lack of any substantial sleep last night, things are so good right now. I should be in pain, hungover, and tired, but am ready to do it all over again. I hope I can sustain this momentum and not crash.
The new Dave Eggers book comes out in a couple of days and I am certainly going to overdraw my bank account to buy it, or hopefully do things before then so that I need not overdraw my bank account. I have exactly 157 pages left in Thy Neighbor's Wife that I need to race through and finish.
This, perhaps, might be the most pointless entry ever, so please, I ask you not to judge me. Tomorrow, watch, I will write something really reflective and pretty just to push this down toward the bottom of my page, out of mind. But, really, I am so incredibly bored and stir crazy right now and do not know what else to do with myself other than to make attempts at writing here, to say look at me, talk to me, play with me. If I look at NYTimes.com or Gawker once more, I am going to lose my mind.
Let's make babies, metaphorically.
Meaning, let's bust loose and run arm in arm out of this place toward things we hope will be better, and even if they are not, which is fairly likely, there will at least be those moments of running and hope when everything, or at least better things, seem a lunging grasp away.
I really wish I could listen to Bruce Springsteen so badly right now, specifically "No Surrender." This has been in my head all day yesterday and today, and tell me these sentiments do not make you want to take on the world:
Well, we busted out of class
Had to get away from those fools
We learned more from a three-minute record, baby
Than we ever learned in school
Tonight I hear that neighborhood drummer sound
I can feel my heart begin to pound
You say you're tired and you just want to close your eyes
And follow your dreams down
I want to sleep beneath the peaceful skies
In my lover's bed
With that wild open country in our eyes
And those romantic dreams in my head