Perforated Lines (you can't resist 'em!)

 the job begins
-- Wednesday, September 22, 1999 --



11:06 p.m. Some really good news: I found the dingle/dongle that connects the camera to the computer that lets me show you what I've been up to. You see, I'm so darn tarred at night, I can barely hold my head up, let alone write a really nice piece, but at least there's some photos, so I can show, if not tell.

Hooray! I took these two when I started the job last Saturday, I think it was. I've lost all track of time now that my clock is unplugged and my desk is in pieces on the floor. You will notice that I've even taped the plug outlets, after taking off the plate. Little blue smidges of tape, and today is the -- what? -- fifth or so day of painting and the wall in the pictures is almost all put back together now. It's where my desk is going to go.

When I get finished.

If I ever get finished?

A little gathering of journal writers from this part of the world is going to be held here, at my house, in ten days. If you're a person keeping a journal and you find that you're going to be in Southern California on October 2, please email me and let me know. It's an open invitation, and we're going to have food and drink, it is to be hoped, and then read from selected entries.

I've been walking from room to room with a critical eye and a loaded brush. I think the thing I'm most looking forward to, after all the hearty hoo-ha-ha, will be to read about it after the fact from the kaleidoscopic angles of different writers.

That's what makes this a doubly weird idea for a party: it's a gathering of friends you've never met and then, just when you think it's over, it's rewound and retold and recalled from various angles. I can't wait to read about it to find out what happened.

But, boy! do I have a lot to fix up between now and then. In a perfect world, I will actually get all this mess cleaned up in time. My infection will be annihilated. I'll finish Cryptonomicon. I'll write the definitive review of it. The smell of paint will be gone.

It could happen.

Tomorrow? Three guesses, and they all begin with paint.

a nice neat job

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