“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
--Ernest Hemingway

My bike is in the shop; it took me 30 minutes to walk home from The Arts Center Station: it was a brisk, fun walk. I took the bus from our office in Buckhead, and when I got on the bus I looked around and realized that the thing all of us had in common is that we are poor. I don't feel poor in spirit, though; I was glad to be on that air-conditioned bus, glad to be on my way home. My dogs were super glad to see me.

I'm well-caffeinated, and yet I am tired. I thought that I would be able to come home from work and transcribe some of this book that I have been writing at work, about work, from notebook to computer, but it doesn't look like that is going to happen. What is going to happen is that I am going to take the dogs for a quick walk, and then I am going to land my head on my pillow; transcribing a great work of art will have to wait until tomorrow. Good night, my friends; sleep well.

I just got my bike back from The Shop. I have four new brake pads on it, a new chain, and a new sprocket. It rides like a new bike. I missed my bike. Marta takes an hour to an hour and a half to make the same trip to work that it takes twenty minutes on my bike to make, plus I have been missing out on the exercise that I get from my bike while I have sat on my bike. The air conditioning on the bus is nice, but the bike ride is twice as nice.

“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”
--Ernest Hemingway


Pulling out my birth certificate, I see that I was born at 814 that my dad was from Kinnitty, Ireland, and me mum was from Dublin.The length of my mother's pregnancy was 40 weeks, and I weighed 7 lbs. 11 oz. when I came into this world. My mother was 32 when she had me, and my dad was 42. Sad that my relationship with either of them didn't work out.

Yoga, last night, was very difficult. I had a twenty minute bike ride to and from work, and put in three hours on the phone, immediately before hitting the Yoga mat. This, plus a quick argument with the neighbors, about some hummus that I allegedly took from them without following proper protocol, proved to be too much to let me have a good Yoga session.

At one point my instructor even said, kind of jokingly, "Do I have to think for both of us?" I was exhausted. I was in a zombie-like state, tinged with touches of anger. I could not concentrate on the work at hand. It was a terrible session, and I was elated when it was over. I am thinking of moving back to a Level 1 class, because this Level 1-2 is is full of asanas that are mostly unattainable for me.

Who cares what level you are in?

I made my first sale last night.

It took me nine nights on the phone, and close to 36 hours to do this. As it was happening, it seemed easy; but Lord know that I put in a lot of effort to get to this point. Everybody clapped, and hollered for me, and then the boss said, "That's great, now get on to the next one!!"

Dylan sticks his tongue out at me, semi-salivating, when I cast my empty hand in his direction. The chunks of fresh pineapple that I then throw to him, and the other two dogs, lays on the floor for several minutes; the dogs are not sure if they like this new treat. The cats meow at me when I walk into the kitchen. The turtles move back and forth in their box. It is a normal day here at The K Hotel.

You make some Great Banana Breads, and then you get cocky; you don't follow the recipe anymore, use your hand as the measuring spoon for the salt, and the baking soda, etc., and what happens...your last Banana Bread tastes a tad like toothpaste!

I hope that your day is brilliant, and full of Love.



Up @ 8:53 I may have to go see a chiropractor; my right lower back has been paining me, at times, & yesterday, in the new Yoga class that I went to, it gave me fits of pain. There is a good in town chiropractor, that my old chiropractor, Dr. Ackerman, told me about, who I will probably check out. The good thing about having a job, is that you have money for chiropractors, well not this week, but with the next check!

I hate when I pull on skin on one of my fingers, making it hurt, at first, and then causing it to bleed. What is this fascination with dangling dead skin that causes me to want to rid it from my body, even though I have a past history of suffering pain as a result of this action? (I'm bleeding now).

Nothing to do but smile: rainy days, and Mondays, never get me down!

I made some hummus, and ate it; I love hummus, and I especially love my home-made variety. I'm listening to Randy Newman; what a roller coaster of emotions that man takes you on in his song. I'm tired, but I don't feel like laying down: it's one of those nights where I feel like I might miss out on something by saying goodbye to the computer. I'm wondering what you are doing?

Up at 7:28 am bright eyed and bushy tailed, whatever bushy tailed means...I was just petting Shawtie with one hand, and Morisson with the other; Dylan looked up at me like saying, "Where is my hand?" I said to him, "I only have two hands," and he went over to Morisson, and pushed him away from my hand, so he could take advantage of it. It's a dog's life.

Bundy licks my hand, and when I smell my hand, it smells like dog. It is Sunday, and I am losing my religion. I think that I am up too early. I think that my bed is calling to me. I know that the dogs, cats, and turtles are fed. I know that the turtles' tank needs cleaning. I know that it is a beautiful day to be alive. Carp diem.

I just woke up for the second time, and I must say that I feel much more awake this time. I have a lot of writing that I did into a notebook on my new book, "It's Hard To Get Rick at $7.25 an Hour," that I need to type onto this puter. I have two days off, and I feel great about it. I feel bad for all the men, and women, who died in war. War sucks.