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10:03 a.m. - February 27, 2003
Procrastination is over and that's the crack! of the whip and it isn't supposed to feel good. But shhh, don't tell anyone.
I'm buckling down - two hours procrastinating and I'm thinking about things good and bad but not feeling down about it, see the difference?

Listening to great music, high volume, watching the cala lilies unfold and open. But it's time to get to work and be productive, be productive!

I have good news for Barbara-the-Editor: I'm sending off the book tomorrow. I've decided there's nothing else I can do beyond writing the entire book again and what's the point in that? So she can have my 466-page pile of paper with the CD backups and I am not going to worry about the mistakes. As Twids says, that's her job to do. Common sense, that, but we all know how little I have in that department.


This afternoon I have an appointment to go look at the duplex I'm thinking about buying.

Yeah, I might become a slum-lord.

I can't think of anyone other than myself who would complain about money from grandmothers who make it possible to buy property, but I feel like an un-man. I realize she has tax motivations of her own - give away before the government collects - and my own tax motivations - invest before the government collects - but for once I'd like to be the stupid ingrate who blows money and comes back from Africa and South America with a tan, a box full of photos, a parasite or two and great memories. Instead, I hoard cash, buy property, invest, invest, invest, pat myself on the back and tell myself, When they're old they'll wish they were like me but you know what? I'd rather be like them now and feel the quickening of the pulse instead of making appointments with real estate agents to look at $299,000 duplexes on the market.

Sigh. I complain far too much.

Minor family squabble materializing: My sister and I both have to buy property with the money from grandma, but my brother got a check for his annuity, money he can't spend until he's 45. See, my grandma's wise: Give the money to those who don't spend it, and give untouchable-money to the one who would. If only I could be in his shoes for a week or two.

Trying to convince grandma to give her money to charity and she scoffs, says she and my grandfather didn't eat macaroni and cheese for years simply to give it to ingrates. There's some logic, there.

I'm off. Must work on Volume 2 with some visible results by April. Remember, I have a contract for 6 books total.

Such a great day. I'd hug you, if I could; it is that great.


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