Yeah, I’m published, for the first time in my life, at last. Pardon the contradiction. The news is, I. Am. On. The. Statesman. Today. With Reboot. On 8th Day, the Sunday supplement, 20th page. I’m famous. If you wanna read it, you could buy a Statesman from anywhere around the country and take a look at the Sunday supplement. I called most of my friends and told them. 1 None of them had read it before I called. 2 None of them seemed to be subscribed to The Statesman when I did call. 3 None of them has called back yet. Oh, what the heck. I’m happy that the literary piece that’s sprawling over one and a half pages of a national English Daily today came off the same place that this piece is coming off now: my computer. And trace it back to my mind.
If you thought that’s the only reason I’m happy, well, you’re — what, not right, of course, — wrong. If you are perceptible enough to understand my Two Of Us, you’d know that this ‘she’ that comes up often in my writing, I broke up with her in July for reasons that weren’t lack of love on any part. And since that wasn’t the reason, we had to come back together. So I patched it up. We’re back.
Did you hear that? We’re back. Ha, we’re back! We. Are. Back. I’m gonna go jump off the nonexistent garage roof now on that nonexistent hang-glider.
Oh, I haven’t told her yet about Reboot. I’m waiting for her to find out. She’s subscribed to the Statesman. All sensible people are.
1Life.
One Life 