say afrin thrice, the afrin man appears
I should apologize for the unnecessary vagueness of yesterday's entry, which led people to believe that something enormous had happened like one of the novels getting published, or an acceptance by the New Yorker or something. No, no; it's just a humble story coming out via the good people at the Southern Review. Which is, as I mentioned to Grant yesterday, certainly occasion for a small victory dance, but not the great Dance of Pants that would accompany publication of a novel. It's the summer 2004 issue, which comes out I think in July; I don't know exactly where it's available, though I expect any of the Goliath megastores will carry it.
But little changes up this life. I'll be here, squirting decongestant up my nose and playing the cello. As every day.
