Granola in the mail!

I got granola in the mail. I hope no one poked a syringe full of disease in it. That would be tragic (right?) See, I only slept for 2 hours last night. I opened the package the granola came in. But I'm so tired I can't remember if the sticker sealing it shut looked as grimy as it did when I received the package. Had it been tampered with? I looked for little holes. I didn't see any, but my eyes are unreliable.

But I don't feel very useful right now so if I go via poisoned granola, so be it. Please destroy the files of my delicate short fiction and burn everything else. I want my funeral to go like this:



Just kidding. Please don't kill me.



This is why I slept for 2 hours. I will sound like an ass, but I want to share the good things. I had Proust Club (I mean, I promised I would start Swann's Way and then I have been reading other things that don't intimidate me so I didn't but then they asked me to come anyway and it was great.) I had two chocolate stouts on an empty stomach with the great conversation. When I came home I started Swann's Way. Then I got distracted by the internet because I wanted to look something up and someone posted this Raymond Carver story. Normally I'm not so much into him, but I liked it and it sort of reminded me of this Mary Gaitskill story (this version is a lil diff. from the version printed in Don't Cry), probably just because of the waitresses, the physicality, something like sexual currency, so there, who knows what my exhausted, mildly-drunk mind was a-cobbling, but there you go. Two nice stories. ENJOY.