Us versus Vermont

This is the title of the book I'm working on. I started writing fiction today. Maybe for the first time in almost six months. I've found it so hard to make stories work. This makes me appreciate good writing.

I found that talking about writing before I finish is bad luck. But I can't ruin the trend. It's going to be stories about Vermont. But I've never been there. I hope you won't be able to tell.

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Right now I'm at work. Most often, I'll updatet his blog at work. Not out of convenience, but because I'm bored, always.

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I've been consulting the weather often. For one, because I don't want shut-in days. I don't want to become the igloo that made an Inuit proud. I don't want to be on that bridge when my arms remain tired after scraping windows and blowing breaths from puffed cheeks so I can see out my rearview mirror.

GMail asked me if I wanted a map to my own house when I checked my email earlier. I said no. What a stupid question.

I'm waiting for Facebook in hi-definition. Notice how I omitted the -gh from high. That's so suave. I should write advertisements. I want to be the one who rots your brain by designing thirty seconds of bliss. I want to be the guy dragging pencils across ashy linen paper, drowning out the watermark. I want to be the mastermind who picks the cute faces covered in blue and gray textiles that make your pants drop, your lebido gird, and your face shrivel from drinking the soda.

Today I had the urge to drive up to Muncie. Obviously, I didn't.

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This blog is over. There's a customer in front of my face. I can smell their gum and the things that are wrong with them.