I'm
in trouble. Big trouble. Possibly even big
trouble.
It's
February 28th, you see, which means (since it isn't a leap
year) that I'm about to miss my deadline.
It
was a mutual agreement, a promise made with negligent optimism and a
hand waved airily in the vague direction of the future. Easy-peasy
lemon-squeezy. Hardly anything left to do. Of course we can
get it finished by the end of February.
Except
here we are, 19.28 on the last day of the month, and all I have to
show for my final chapter is this:
Paris,
September 2010
xkjvhs;fhaw;fljhasfljwhef;woufkjdcfhakfhkajfhlskjfhlskjfhawlkjfhalkjhwelkjfahslfkjhweflkjtheflkyjshflkybhfljwbflkjsbfksjfh;aergh;alsjfh;awjdsfh;aersjhg;auershffg;arushdfglaurhfglkujhsdflukwjhsdflkujhasdlfkjathsdlfgkjahrsdgflkuajerhgj,dvjerotuhw;aofahw;erfoghwarofge;aruhga
Inspiring
stuff, I know, just wait till you see the rest of the chapter. It'll
be done soon. End of March, I swear...
Is that an example of concrete poetry? Very experimental; can't wait to see the rest...
ReplyDeleteHurry up. I want to retire. Too much blogging and not enough writing.
ReplyDeleteoh god, not you as well. the pressure is unbearable.
ReplyDelete