Also, I killed a duck.
Fortunately, those were not connected incidents. As in, the day went neither: a) I got rejected and therefore killed the agent’s pet duck in revenge, nor b) I killed a duck and, bloodstained and feather-mottled, was promptly rejected from an agency.
Nope. More mundane.
I feel worse about the duck, though. A trio of mallards touched down in the middle of Haggerty Rd, where the speed limit is 45 and traffic fairly heavy. I just had enough time to register: WHAT IS THAT DUCK THINKING? And, sadly, not enough time to check my mirrors before swerving and THUMP-POOF. In my rearview nothing but feathers in a mushroom cloud.
OH. Also the Comcast dude totally broke our apartment hall window.
What the heck, world?
But, those are the lowlights. Carl had an extra day off today, so we slept in, played tennis, got Jimmy John’s, and went to Kensington Park to walk along the lake for a mile or two. Beautiful weather.
It’s been a good weekend off, and I’m starting (hesitantly) to think more constructively about writing. Been getting bad vibes from the last couple of people I shared my latest project with… “But, where’s the romance?” they say. “Do they fall in love?”
Am I the only person who’s not feeling the love these days? Not personally, I mean. Am utterly happy myself, but… just not feeling the need to get all up in a fictional character’s Kool Aid, you know? Surely people do interesting things besides fall in L? I dunno. I think I currently believe that love (which is interesting) and falling in love (which is not very) are kind of separate deals.
Does that make sense?
In the absence of clarity on that topic, I think we’re going out for some late evening McDonalds. “I need fries,” I told Carl. “I killed a duck tonight. I need something to soothe the pain of making that male duck a widower.”
Carl said ok.
Eat your heart out, Bella Swan. That’s what true love looks like.