Oh, man...for having such a shit year, my July VSC experience is a clean spot on the otherwise filthy toilet of my life.
I'm dumbly happy. I am writing. I am beautiful. My words slay dragons. I have friends! Most of whom were born in 1976, like me! Low-clouds and fog descending into valleys. Toothless woman at liquor store (N.B. referred to her mouth as 'New York Times Crossword Puzzle.') and organic produce! I loved having to drive 15 miles to use my cell phone! I am the proud of the mountains. Maple cones grow from their metal mothers, swirling towards the inevitable. Cheap rum down the hatch like a hapless teenager! Giant sandbags in the river. I rock the nozzle that rocks the commercial dishwasher. These hands work! This mind produces! Equilibrium and bliss!
Viva!
I love Vermont. It is like a plate of cookies and I want to eat every one. It is like a place made just for me, like I drew it with crayon as a child and magic fairies made it real.
I found cool people at dinner tonight. Embryonic friendships. Ahoy!
I have 51,000 words of novel in the hopper. So, 40,000 words divided by the 24 remaining days I have here equals 1,666 words per day. TOTZ DOABLE. Let's get this novel finished, people!
I'm about to attend a public performance that involves piano destruction. They are also demolishing the VSC bridge. Lots o' destruction around. And art.
Focus, ma douce. FOCUS.
Tonight's chicken looked kind of dark and tasted gamey. "What's up with this chicken?" I asked and the woman across from me said it was duck. For some reason, I had to stop eating it. Duck=yuck. Avian rapist fuckers. I had the tofu instead.