When I looked out the screen door I saw this little chipmunk poking out from the bushes. Much to my surprise he began speaking to me. What he said was shocking, so prepare yourself, Dear Reader.
I used to be an important man, he said looking up at me, the commander in chief of the forces in Afghanistan. I kicked back and relaxed with a reporter, my, it felt good telling the truth to a good listener, but my boss didn't like it.
Dyou mean to tell me, Mr Chipmunk, that you're actually Stanley McChrystal?
The very same, said the chipmunk, shaking his head. I was so embarrassed and humiliated I cashed in my chips & asked to go underground. Sorry, lady, but I'm underground in your front yard.
I offered Stan the Chipmunk a piece of my newly baked bread, you know, Marcy, the same one I told you about with the whole wheat flour and the grits cuz my sister wanted to get rid of them.
Turns out Stan eats mostly bugs with some nutlike things thrown in. Likes birds' eggs too.
I asked Stan if he brought his family along. He said he was too embarrassed to face his wife and his adult son. As a man, he used to run 7 to 8 miles a day, according to my man Wiki, and ate only once a day. Slept 4 hours a night.
Big transformation.
Wanted to talk a little about psychosis. Visited a New Directioneer yesterday at Horsham Clinic who's been psychotic for over a month but has vastly improved. She no longer believes she's given birth to twins and can't find them. But remnants of things that happened to her in the past are still at play in her delusions. That's called 'method to your madness.' I told her most attentive mom, who drove us there, that mania is often accompanied by hypersexuality which her daughter is exhibiting.
I was impressed by the care she's getting at Horsham. Staff knows her case very well and refuses to send her home in her debilitated condition. Good!
Time for another photo. BTW, my camera is stuck and I can't load new photos onto the blog so must upload old rejected photos. I actually drove over to Staples where I bought the camera but when Larry tried it on his computer, it worked.
This room is the study I created so I could find peace away from my work. Guess how many times I've been up there to read a book?
At the last meeting of ND we had Wendi Rose doing Reiki with us but first we did a guided meditation. When she asked for comments, I said, I went into a state akin to the same place in my brain where my psychotic or dreamlike thoughts occur. I have no access to that brain department normally except when I'm falling asleep or am asleep but under her guidance, I found my way back to that state.
I also went there the other nite after our trip to DC. Images flashed quickly across my eyelids as I fell asleep. The second nite after DC, an amazing image shot up from the depths.
I saw the interior of the American Folk History Museum and a particular exhibit that was absolutely stunning. A man had designed an altar out of aluminum foil and it shone brightly in the museum, the size of a garage, just laden with symbols. I quickly assumed namaste position and worshiped the altar with the unknown artist.
I had taken numerous photos of that section of the museum, none of which came out. My camera sucks. It has a mind of its own. I wonder who it used to be before it was transformed into a camera.
Ron Abrams was kind enuf to enlarge and frame this lovely photograph of a man with a John Lennon tattoo on his calf. All I have is freckles on mine and mosquito bites.
When you write a novel like I did, you wanna get it published. So every day I send out query letters. I keep the results on sheets of pink paper, just listing the names of agents and their companies, and then crossing em off as the No's come in.
When the first No came in, 10 minutes after I sent out the letter, I was distressed for two days, and then I read my daughter's comments of the book, which I emailed to her. She liked it. I was heartened. So far, I have six X-marks on my pink sheets. One woman said she thought my idea was a STRONG project.
That's the word they use. Strong. My teacher said my query letter was strong.
Yesterday I freaked out, very mildly, b/c my computer froze and entirely stopped working. Scott wouldn't wake up until 2 pm but when he did he set it right. I made sure my laptop contained duplicates of everything on my main computer.
Apparently there are over 500 pages of agents listed at AgentQuery.com. I learned what to do from my teacher Nicole Bokat. When I called her up, I wanted to hear from the sound of her voice whether she really liked my article and thought it was worthy of getting published.
It's one thing to read her comments of my gorgeously-written prose -- or was it grotesquely-written prose -- and another to hear it in her voice.
I am nothing if not insecure!
Nicole, dyou think it's publishable? I asked.
Her response took me by surprise. More of a clucking sound indicating, Are you fucking kidding? Of course it's good. (My words)
Wait a minute! Is that Stanley on my doorstep again? Lemme go look.
Oh, you will simply not believe this! Have you ever seen a chipmunk cry? The little guy is just sitting there, his body heaving, with wet tears streaking down his whiskered brown face. He let me pick him up and cuddle him. It almost looked like he's growing little epaulets on his haunches like old soldiers wear.
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