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Hum....sat around all day. But I should be able to run by tomorrow. wink

Madre es doing well. smile

Jenny is still gone. heart

And my tummy is filled with warm pudding. Yumyumyumyumyum. mrgreen

Y'know, like Dora's backpack..?

Whatever.

My mind continues to do backflips. They always say that kids are the ones that have the imagination, and as we get older we lose that. I know that, with my age, I'm beginning to question all the magics and everything because the rules of science are asserting themselves. But I feel that my imagination is...better or more acid-like? than when I was a kid. I like it much better now. It's like I'm always in a Lewis Caroll poem.

So lately I've been trying to put my most recent book into perspective, y'know, what it might look like to a reader. What I came up with was:

((Acid imagination x psychotic tendencies) - any social interaction whatsoever = main character) totally offensive language + depressing view of life x countless murder = Mi Libro.

Seriously. It's so depressing. And I don't even have to try hard. All of it just bubbles up from some weird sadistic part of my head..



Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite! The claws that snatch!
Beware the Jubjub bird!
And the frumious Bandersnatch!