You Can’t Spell Procrastination Without Pot

When I got home today, about6:30, and dead tired from dealing with crazy little kids, I had two writing projects in mind, neither of which was difficult, and one of which was this blog, which I’m doing now.
Then I went out to the balcony and smoked a joint, because it’s Friday afternoon and I owe myself that, I have decided, and while I was out there H called and said to meet her at the Chinese for dinner. Isabel and I went, but Sam was out with friends so would meet us at the restaurant, which he did, but late enough that we just got his meal to go.
Then H laid a 3rd writing project on me, which is also not a biggie, but every couple of days I write a news article in simplified English, we swipe something off the internet, you know “Florida Man…” type stories. Florida Man Bites Head off Hamster, Florida Man Killed in Argument over Hot Sauce, and then we post them to some Swiss school’s website, we’ve been doing it for years, takes about 15 minutes, but longer when you’re stoned. Much, much longer.
The 3rd writing project was just to transcribe the 3 new stanzas I wrote today for my latest poem which is going to be a book “The Meaning of Life in Easy English,” which is kind of a schizophrenic thing and I’ve no idea what demographic this will appeal to because it kind of starts off sounding like a kid’s book, it’s inspired by flash card lessons which i do all the time, but then it very quickly turns into something different.
Oh, well. There’s the blog written anyway and I’m off to bed.

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