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August 27, 2004 - 9:53 am

PASS ME THAT CHISEL, YOU OLD HARPIE.

Iím really starting to enjoy this on-line diary thing. I like to write, and a few people seem to like reading what I write, and thatís neat-o.

Thereís something bothering me, though. I havenít actually mentioned to John yet that I keep an on-line diary. However, I do intend to do so very soon before it gets to the point where itís been going on so long that everyone knows about it but him and then thereís never a good time to bring it up. That would suck:

Me: Could I get a ride to the MARTA station?
John: Where are you going?
Me: To the airport. Could you hand me that suitcase?
John: The airport? Why?
Me: To catch a plane, silly.
John: Where are you going?
Me: New York.
John: What?
Me: New York. Pass me the toothpaste.
John: What for?
Me: I canít go on a six week book tour without toothpaste, can I?
John: A what?
Me: A book tour. Did I not mention that?
John: UhÖ..no?
Me: Oh, sorry. Yeah. Iím going to be promoting my book.
John: What book?
Me: Itís nothing. Just a little collection of my diary entries from the past thirteen years.
John: Your diary entries? What diary? And who would publish your diary? What did you say about me?
Me: Whatís that supposed to mean?
(Argument degenerates from original topic to personal shortcomings on both our parts until we forget what we were talking about, I miss my plane, the deal falls through, and the book is a complete bomb, sending us into a financial tailspin, causing us to lose our house and roam from shelter to shelter in search of shoes with soles and head lice treatment for our drug-addicted adult children.)

See what I mean? It could get complicated. I need to go ahead and tell him, but sometimes Iím more comfortable sharing my thoughts with complete strangers than I am with John and Iím not sure how he would feel knowing my thoughts are out there with complete strangers. Weíve never really had what youíd call an ďopen line of communicationĒ and, in fact, we donít ever really ďspeak to each other,Ē although I certainly wouldnít mind if he were reading along. I mean, maybe heíd find out something interesting about me that would tip the scales in my favor over his wood shop.

Or, maybe not. I could just end up making him really hurt and mad so that he goes postal and takes his hammer-drill to the station wagon. Or, more likely, mails me a dead trout with ďTRAITORĒ meticulously chiseled into its little scales with his expensive Japanese chisels. He never did like trout.

Okay, this whole entry is getting completely out of hand in an over active imagination, worst-case scenario kind of way, but this diary isnít really about John and his chiseled fish Ė not directly, anyway. Itís about me. So there. Nanny nanny boo boo.

Iíll see you all at the signing in New York.

~Samantha

recommended:
reading -Music for Torching by A.M. Homes
viewing - The Anniversary Party
listening -"Which will" by Nick Drake

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