I have to go buy an air conditioner. I had one last year but it didn't work very well, and it was loud, so it was hard to sleep at night with it on, so anyway, I got rid of it and need a new one.
Today's my day off and I was planning on heading over to PC Richards... but I am wildly distracted because I have decided to write a memoir.
I am also writing a wine book this summer (that I'm very excited about,) but this new project leapt out of nowhere and put a stranglehold on me. I have taken down from the shelf all of my journals spanning the last twenty-four years (yikes) and have been flipping through them, gathering information and steam... and I am already seven pages into writing:
The Definition of (Love) Insanity: An Investigative Report.
What I figured is: if the definition of insanity is repeatedly doing
the same action yet hoping for different results, I have to apply the inverse
to get a different result in my love life. So I need to figure out what these past patterns of love have
been in order to circumvent them.
I am only on page seven and think this is going to be really important for me. I also think this is going to be something people will want to read. But if my intention is to write a book, I wonder if mentioning real people (even if most of them are only referred to by their initials or aliases) is a good idea. I mean, I have to mention them. But what if they read the book and sue me for some ridiculous reason?
I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I'm crazy gung ho about sitting here and putting all of this down, even if it means I'm sweating in the heat and humidity.
So I guess, no, it's not a bad idea at all.
