The messages that have arrived in my gmail inbox since the day I opened it have had some of the finest headings I’ve seen on any message, anywhere. This week’s crop:
- Sea Otters Coated in Oil? Never again!
- support your bed event
- Acai diet, lose weight without impossible diets
- Perfect luxury which is affordable for anybody.
- Price for 100mg X 30 pills $3.33 per pill
- boost your sexual adventures
- Pretty women worldwide will know about your big pride
- Old teacher taught pupils to jerk
- Get the best experience you ever had
- Get your pecker boosted
- Get a pole larger than your forearm
- You can be the man of steel
- Your manhood really depends on the inches inside your pants
So usually I delete these right away, but these were priceless. I was tempted when I read “Get the best experience you ever had” to click and hope for the best possible context for that statement, as if it might, by some miracle of gypsy magic, be subjective. Somehow it’s only my gmail spam box that gets flooded with this stuff. The others receive bulk mail from my credit card companies and retail outlets besides.
Today I’m sitting outside on a chaise lounger in the sun, having decided to forego class. Creative nonfiction…I don’t know. I don’t understand it. It’s not at all clear to me what I’m expected to produce in that class, and how a writer is supposed to grow there. I feel more interested in telling a story than spilling my guts all over the page. It’s my issue. Writing fiction has helped me develop a carapce which makes it difficult to relate honestly what might have happened in a given situation. I’m not that close to the work, and I think it shows.
It’s not a “sometimes” thing, though, this typing. It’s every day, and half the time I don’t want to. Like right now. I’d rather be sitting here with a beer and drinking myself into an afternoon nap on my front lawn. I think I’ll try and find real work in New Orleans.