I’m trying to hold on to my work ethic, but the refrain in my head is holy shit, we’re hosting Thanksgiving for 16 people. This weekend I have to empty out
my office the dining room, clean out the cesspit refrigerator, and drink a lot get ready to host two of my sisters and attendant family.
I’m still reading Son of a Gun, and I still love it. He neither tells too much nor too little. His scenes are fleshed out. There is only a little bit of bullshit. The book is about a man looking into his mother’s murder by his stepfather. He goes to a support group for people with murdered loved ones and writes:
“They don’t discuss the phase after the zombie phase: the denial phase, the rage phase, the writing-a-book-about-it stage.”
What stage are you in?