Today was a long hard day of manual labor . . . but I am determined to edit a chapter. Just not Chapter 22. It's too long.
I ended up doing two chapters, though I found an error in the second of them (and will have to redo a line). I am super tired right now, and even though it's hours before I normally go to bed (I got up before the sun today, so that might have something to do with it), I'm tempted to skip exercise and just hit the sack.
Shoot, that's what I did.
In other news, I hate the word "turducken," and loathe anybody that uses it. I've got a friend in New Zealand, and he's absolutely revolted whenever he hears these dirty, shameful truths about America and our gluttony. When I told him about our fast food culture here, he shook his head and said, "But that's just, like, rich teenagers you're talking about . . . or morbidly obese computer programmers." And the truth is, it's everybody writing this or reading this, except him. Sad, no?*
*I used to have a friend in Argentina, and she would ask me about American culture, because, as she said, there was so much anti-Yanqui (the vile word they call us) propaganda there. And I asked, "Like what?" And she said, "About how racist you guys are, and how wasteful and decadent." I said, "Decadent how?" thinking it would be something sexual. And she said, "Like, I read this disgusting thing that most Americans buy Christmas presents . . . for their dogs. That's gotta be a lie, right?"
And I had to tell her that, growing up, my siblings and I would always get a present for our dog, every year. Sigh.
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