So, the idea was that I'd write about this past weekend in two parts. Part Two would be about women. But then, my internal censor kicked in - and I decided not to do it.
So, I won't be writing to you about my brother, Dwight's, new girlfriend and how I was under whelmed with her. I won't be writing about Vicky and how she can be low-down cold sometimes. I won't be writing about Rosa, and how she's getting industrious about being the second most evil being next to Satan. (That was a typo. I meant to write Santa.)(Oh, and don't worry, you'll hear more by and by if you're good.)
I won't be writing about that.
… something tells me it's already too late.
That said, I reread what I wrote on Monday and was stunned, as I often am, by my own arrogance. Can you believe me, of all people, talking about keeping promises? I should be ashamed of myself. Probably, the only reason I felt the compulsion to take care of Alacrity is because that's the only promise to Rosa I haven't broken.
I'm a louse and I wonder why Vicky would ever want to marry me.
But enough of that. How about some good news? I've hit the 75,000 word mark in the book. (Have I mentioned this?) I seem to be back on track for about 80k. Sweeeeet!
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