I'm not going to AWP.

I'm at that point in the new writing thing where there is the Big Thing that I have to deal with, address in some way, if not resolve, and I'm stalling for all I'm worth. Waylaying it is becoming pleasurable in a not wholly unsexual way. A kind of feat: how many other elements can I bring in? Where else can we go before we Get There? Because I suppose the Got There is scary in some way, like, what if there is no there, as Miss Stein said, there? All of this foreplay for some mild, flaccid, fleshy ta-da. Ta-d'oh!

In other non-news, there is a point every day around 5pm where Beatrice and I find ourselves dancing in our socks and skating across the floor to some jam or other, maybe it's Michael Jackson or maybe it's Jurassic 5, and she likes to say watch this and shake her little head from side to side, and I'm like, I can't believe you can do that, I can't believe how much you can do, I can't believe I made you, did I really make you, what are you feeling right now, have we met.

It's a time of day that reminds me of being in the basement with my older brother and watching him just do stuff and feeling lucky that I was in the presence of something a lot cooler than what I understood cool to be, and something would be on the stereo, once it was the Sugarhill Gang, once it was The Smiths, and he'd know every word, and I'd want to keep very quiet so as not to ruin anything.