Sandy Mallory’s rules for young writers: Tell an embarrassing story about yourself to seem more human and to allow emotional identification with you on the part of your readers. (I just made up Sandy and the rule based on something Angela told me).

This morning, in preparation for my big trip, I took some of my new dry clean only shirts and wool pants and put them into the washing machine. I was careful. I selected the gentle cycle. I added the special gentle soap. I then added the black pants, the red shirt and the two white ones. So my trip is off to a good start and I haven’t even left yet. The red shirt and black pants are fine, the two white shirts are soaking in bleach so maybe I caught it in time, but I doubt it cause I’m a dumb ass. Anybody want some very nice pink shirts? I just checked on them, one is only slightly pink and the other one is now yellow…WTF!?! I changed the bleach water, so we’ll see.

It’s storming here, deep rumbles got me up at five and I need to finish packing and run those last few errands. I have a mountain of work at work in order to leave things in reasonable stead for my ten days off. They will either see how much I really do around there or they’ll fire me as soon as I get back. That’s what’s nice about recessions, this shared sense that we all have of our unflappable job security. I don’t suppose it matters much, there are always other jobs for strapping young lads like myself with long hair and too much education. Once a bartender, always a bartender. Actually I will return to an exhausted support staff and receive a tidy raise, one can only hope.

My psychic told me I would take two trips this year that were important, if we assume by “trip” she meant actually traveling through physical space, then here we go on number one.