Spent a large part of this weekend writing a scene of a story where a little kid gets drowned. Midnight Picnic.
Then I had a nightmare about drowning and another one about being in high school, which is its own special kind of nightmare. The nightmare involved having to take chemistry again and there were lobsters in the classroom.
One night this weekend I saw a writer get drunk and fire a .38 revolver at a bush beside a Manhattan street at 5 a.m.
Last week I went to an event for Beckett's 100th birthday; it kind of reminded me that Beckett, while probably an intellectual giant, also kind of sucked. That nightmarishly boring section from Malloy about sucking on pebbles...Jesus Christ.
I am also writing a sequence, this weekend and now, involving a helpless alcoholic. I haven't drunk at all in five years... it's strange to remember what it was like not only to drink but to drink to excess. No other drug really approximates alcohol.
Increasingly I am obsessed with saving money. I spent less than twenty dollars this weekend, which is amazing in Manhattan, and ten of those dollars were for a cab ride home after I hurried away from the gunshot on Saturday night.
Also, I am at work.