good morning, beautiful people. i am writing you from within what seems like a spinal tap smoke effect-- my wife was toasting some bread on the stove and went to take a phone call, leaving the kitchen [and the stove]. fast forward fifteen minutes and it's like apocalypse now in there, martin sheen coming up through the water with the war paint on. apparently i need to change the batteries in my smoke alarm, by the way.
i don't really have any agenda this morning [to be honest i never really have an agenda-- the brilliance just uncontrollably pours outta me. i don't ask questions], except to ask you a favor: won't you let me know that you're out there? leave me comments. lavish me with praise. excoriate me with criticism. affect me in no way with your ambivalence. i want to hear from you. what are you thinking? how are you feeling? what are you wearing? anything you want to hear more from me about? less? want to know where to send your check?
i am going to leave it at that this morning-- the treadmill beckons*. have a beautiful day.
*technically the treadmill is more mocking: mocking me for buying the fuckin' thing in the first place.