Today's novel progress: 711 Words. Very slow, plodding. I was tired, couldn't keep my eyes open. Hope I'm not just phoning it in.
I gave Elena a copy of Vonnegut's sci-fi classic The Sirens of Titan for her birthday. She asked if I think a demonic puppet master is controlling everything. Of course not - if that were true, then the world would make some sort of sense and it doesn't. The world is, in the words of the late great Douglas Adams, in "one whole jujuflop situation." I do, however, believe Robert Anton Wilson & Timmothy Leary's theory that we are robots programmed by our pasts. Some ex-millionaire out in California killed his family and himself, so I guess I'm a fucking asshole for my joke about circa 1920-sky-scraper-jumping-stockbrokers earlier in the week. Last week, here in New York, the cops tased an unarmed mentally ill man causing him to fall to his death. The lieutenant who ordered the tasing committed suicide because he didn't want his kids to see him be arrested. So, it's better to devastate and break your kids' hearts for the rest of their lives? Tomorrow is Thursday. I hate Thursdays. Thursdays are like when you've had a back-breaking day at work and you look at the clock thinking it must be time to go home but there's still two hours to go. G'night.