Doing Almost Everything While Doing Very Little

Forgive me. I do not deserve your loyal readership. I have become a Bad Blogger.

And I write today because I am home, facing the sadness of my stalling car, the Midget, who needs spark plugs and various other sundries totaling about $300.

So I write now, between working from home and alternatively buying new books (collected Nabokov short stories, Schlink’s "The Reader" (thanks, M.), Bragg’s "All Over But the Shouting") and figuring out what sort of new painting I will begin. All my canvases are too small. Big. Something big I am thinking. I am having the urge to shellac right in there all the funny little funicular tickets I have saved from trips—if not all, at least one or two. Right in the middle of the wet oil paint. Need Bigger Canvases.

Then there’s that pesky book proposal that needs working on. How do we do it? How do we ever get anything done with so much to do? You tell me.

(Oh, and a special hello to whoever just peeked at my blog by asking Jeeves: “Choose any two characters on the three doctors the pact and compare and contrast between them.” You deserve a special prize for most unusual way of coming here. Congratulations.)