Stuffing Envelopes

Mundane morning, dealing with trash and the stuff that needs recycling, a few errands, docent a group through "Construction Zones", slip out back for a smoke. Then lunch, and when I get back from the pub, the printed matter is back from the printer for our largest fund-raiser of the year. Four cards and a return envelope that need to be collated and stuffed in mailing envelopes. There's just Pegi and me, Trish is sneezing like a race horse and we tell her to go home. So I stuff and Pegi addresses for four hours. More help tomorrow. We should be able to make short work of it, there are only a thousand. One thing I learned, doing over 70 books in editions of 500, was how to collate. I'm world class at this, I was ranked as high as 11th, one year. Glycerin, on your fingertips, helps, if you're dealing with a lot of paper. I never resorted to those little latex finger-tips. They're nasty. I had a draft Guiness alone, after work, then Terry joined me at the bar, and we talked about art. He doesn't know what's what, and I don't either. Driving home, the extra seven-point check-list is less important than navigating the curves. Really, I just talk to myself. I ran across a note that indicated I should pay more attention to short sentences, and I had to laugh; I'm almost ready to confront Roy Blount Jr about his stance on the semi-colon. Humor is a funny thing, there's no foreshadowing, and that there is often not an actual funny event. It's increasingly funny as the story is told. No decent story-teller could do this, without a sense of time. You did what when? That pretty much leaves me alone, sifting whatever flour you were pushing through whatever sieve. I have to go, but you should have to think about what you are.