Your Dog Stinks

He closed his eyes and died, then, feeling oddly relieved.

That, right there, that's the last line of the novel: words 51,732 through 51,742. See? I said I would do it, and I did. (What a disaster! What a pile of trash! It makes Sweet Valley High look like Tolstoy. It brings shame to my family and fatherland. It's smelling up my computer.)

Next step, I suppose, is having it criticised. The idea is to sell it and pay my Visa bill, not gather praise. To that end, I'm sending it to Mother. Mother has never hesitated to crush me like a gnat. Mother said my artistic talent was "so minuscule as to be positively nonexistent." Also, Mother knows books. I'm sending bits and pieces to other folks, as well. I wonder if it'll mess up the start of my next novel, having this one ripped apart while I'm writing those first few chapters. Probably not. It's never messed up my drawing, having folks laugh at it on the Internet.

Besides, I'm in a belligerent mood--so what if it stinks? So does your dog! So does your car! So do you!

--and, also, a silly mood--...just kidding, about the dog.

I should do something, this weekend: have lunch with friends, get in some birding--all that sort of thing. I haven't seen anyone in ages. I've been dating my laptop. Last weekend, I played too many videogames. I should declare a moratorium on games (besides Katamari Damacy) till the Playstation III comes out. I should resolve to sell a novel by then, so I can get an advance, and buy all the new games. Well, one new game, anyway. (How much time does that give me? Not enough. Not nearly enough. I don't even have an agent yet.)

My hair's gone all crispy, today. I used a new shampoo, and it's terrible. It's dried my whole head out. I think it might have absorbed part of my brain.

LIST OF THINGS I COULD DO ON THE WEEKEND, IF I COULD PEEL MYSELF AWAY FROM THE STUPID PLAYSTATION (WHICH I COULD, IF I TRIED--REALLY, I SWEAR)

1) I could take lots of photographs. I could spend the whole day taking photographs. I could swallow my fear of camera-horking hoodlums, and venture out on the streets. I could, at the very least, poke the lens out through the garden gate. A mugger would have to be right quick, then.

2) I could actually make one of the dishes I've bought ingredients for. Man, it's always the same: I buy the stuff for spaghetti with meat sauce, or pork dumplings, or chicken cordon bleu, and what do I eat? Plain mince, ground pork sarnies, chicken stir-fry, and blue cheese on Saltines. Could I be any lazier?

3) I could tidy up. (Boo! Hiss! Houuuu!)

4) I could get a haircut. I need one rather badly. My split ends have split ends. I wonder how I'd look with a fringe? Every few years, I get the idea I'd look good in a fringe. I never do, and then I've got to wait ages for it to grow back out.

5) I could finish my latest drawing, or scan one of the ones languishing under the bed.

6) I could go on a blind date with someone from lavalife.ca. (I wouldn't, but I could.)

7) I could clear all the junk out of my closet, and put my clothes in there, instead. I could buy a bunch of coathangers, and organise all my coats by colour and length. If there were enough hangers left over, I could do my sweaters, as well.

8) I could sit in the garden and read. I'd have to take a brolly, to guard against sunburn. People might laugh. It's funny to see someone with a brolly, when it isn't raining.

I think I might try the cooking. I could go for a nice chicken dinner. Only, I forgot to buy brown rice. It's stupid to cook a proper entree, if you haven't got any side-dishes. I didn't get potatoes, either. Maybe I could get a zucchini, somewhere. Mother said there was a place downstairs--where would that be? Augh. Fuck cooking. It's too complicated.

At any rate, I'm glad it's Friday. This week has passed very slowly. It feels like it's been two weeks, not one.