Saturday, January 31, 2015
Like Sands Through the Hourglass...
Do you ever have periods of your life where there's just so much to do and everything is just moving so fast that suddenly it's a whole new month and you didn't even realize it? And for some reason you have thirteen unwatched episodes of Revenge and the Whitney Houston Lifetime movie on your DVR? Also you haven't taken the Christmas tree down and it's almost President's Day? That sort of thing (if not that exact thing, as Christmas comes only once a year, despite the contrary legislation I have repeatedly lobbied for) seems to happen to me all the time now. It's weird but okay, I guess.
I've been doing a lot of writing. Mainly stupid sketch and musical stuff, and quite unlikely to be excerpted by Reader's Digest any time soon. But it's kind of fun (rhyming Lupita Nyongo in a song is likely to remain one of the highlights of my life) and probably more useful than, say, watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (OMG, what is the deal with Kim?). I'm still quite confident that I will one day win the Man Booker Prize, so long as they expand their eligibility guidelines a bit to include skits written for meetings of the organized bar. Keep sending those request letters, people.
Do you ever have periods of your life where there's just so much to do and everything is just moving so fast that suddenly it's a whole new month and you didn't even realize it? And for some reason you have thirteen unwatched episodes of Revenge and the Whitney Houston Lifetime movie on your DVR? Also you haven't taken the Christmas tree down and it's almost President's Day? That sort of thing (if not that exact thing, as Christmas comes only once a year, despite the contrary legislation I have repeatedly lobbied for) seems to happen to me all the time now. It's weird but okay, I guess.
I've been doing a lot of writing. Mainly stupid sketch and musical stuff, and quite unlikely to be excerpted by Reader's Digest any time soon. But it's kind of fun (rhyming Lupita Nyongo in a song is likely to remain one of the highlights of my life) and probably more useful than, say, watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (OMG, what is the deal with Kim?). I'm still quite confident that I will one day win the Man Booker Prize, so long as they expand their eligibility guidelines a bit to include skits written for meetings of the organized bar. Keep sending those request letters, people.
