Ed Bedford 1:30 p.m., Dec. 4
my forehead is tight. My jaw is tense. it's only Thursday, and I'm beat. I've never suffered fools gladly. At least as far as I can recall And since I'm solo, there is no one here to contradict me. I try my best. I try to rise above it. To treat disrespect with respect. To watch the things I've devoted a substantial period of time to, run aground.
Trying hard to maintain my smile, a lightness of spirit found only, so far, in travel and change. Tired of trying, tired of egos overtaking common sense, tired of putting up with fools who think a book or a class or a conversation is knowledge.
Tired of serious linear people thinking they are creative, have some special insight bestowed Upon them at the same time as a title.
Too much vodka, in this glass, not in me, add more ginger, relax, dinner time. Everything looks better in the morning.