Monday,
February 18, 2002
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.. cupid in a window . something about junk shops
"I first realized that I was
really a writer when I became almost physically ill after letting too
long a time lapse without doing any writing."
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get with it I have a pretty good day working. Until I have to review something that makes me just stop in my tracks. How can communication break down so sometimes? Or maybe a better question is: how can it ever work? Corporations are funny creatures.
So, I'm glad to get home although maybe less than thrilled that we are being interviewed by some guy doing a 'feasibility study' for an arts group. But. Then. It's Monday and I can work the crossword in The New York Times. FFP heats some King Ranch Chicken and opens wine. And the day is redeemed.
One of the (few) people in possession of the link point for this new year of entries was shocked to learn of my ADD. OK, the truth is, who knows if I have ADD? Or if ADD exists. But it would explain a lot. Certainly I have a lot of trouble staying with one task very long. For that matter, I think I'm dyslexic, too. Would explain my confusion of left and right as a child and my inability, to this day, to spell aloud comfortably. Wouldn't it? However, what I really expect is true is this: I'm a reasonably intelligent and quite lazy person who will get away with whatever tiny effort I can to get by. I'm creative but my follow-through is, um, pitiful. Still I've been successful. Doesn't say much for the hard-working folks, does it? Of course, I've been far less successful than some folks. But then...heh, heh...I wasn't trying. I was flitting from one thing to the next. So it goes. Excuse me...gotta do something else now.
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178
JUST
TYPING