Got Mashed Potatoes

I think if I were diagnosed with terminal cancer right now that I would drop everything and try to write out all the books left in me. Which most likely would end up with some very forced fiction. As I see things now, there's a lot of work to do. I don't really give a damn about publishing anymore. It's just such a hassle, and the books really aren't any missing link in American fiction. But I would be disappointed if I didn't get the books out of my system -- the right books. I wonder how that would feel, having written every idea. I imagine that would feel as light as air. Writing a book is just like running. Starting out is such an effort, setting out what you know and then beginning to chip away at yourself, molding yourself into this better version. It's exhausting looking at it, but I can't stop looking. I would really like to say there has been a lot of progress on my running or writing, but it's probably the opposite. I have the sense that being fully devoted to neither takes a toll. This is really the only place I can bring this up. I really enjoy being old, but one of the downsides to it are the constant weather/job conversations you have to go through. All the 'sum up'. It's exhausting, having to choose what to tell people, deciding how much is enough, what will move them, what will shut them up -- just what is it they want to hear? That's the problem I have with so many friends that live away -- "How are things in Milwaukee?" What is that? How the hell do I answer that? I don't know how things are in Milwaukee. They change every day, just like everyone and everywhere else. It's too bad it's so far away that people don't know -- that email and telephones and instant messaging and cell phones never really bridge that divide. If you're not present, the technology never really cuts down the distance. So that's how things are: I better get writing. "This is like starting all over all over again."