The internet is this wonderful place where you can meet new people, engage in scintillating conversation, build a lovely virtual community, and then hand over the keys to a lunatic to house-sit for you while you take a long weekend.
The lunatic would be me. I’m sure Linda will pardon all the selfies I take as I put all her furniture into compromising positions. And these vomit stains will wash right out, I’m sure. Also, the bullet holes were totally already in the siding before I got here. And let’s not discuss details, but you might want to take all your potted plants outside and burn them, for their own good. We’ll just say that they’ve seen things that the average botanical ought not see. (I blame Helen Espinosa for that, actually. Do you even vet your guest hosts at all?)
Anyway, I’m taking over this joint for the week, and more to the point, I’m in the driver’s seat for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this weekend, so, you know, brace for impact and hide your kids and all that. You will probably also see an unrelated ramble from me of the sort I usually post at my own nest of iniquity. If you like what you see, feel free to stop on by and pay a visit to the cubby I knocked out of the drywall where I do my own not-quite-daily driveling at Accidentally Inspired. If you don’t like what you see, well, uh, I’m sure there’s some bleach around here somewhere. Or at least, there was, before I had to clean up after Helen. (I’m pretty sure she killed a guy in the basement, Linda. It definitely wasn’t me. Either way, uh, sorry about the corpse in the basement.)
It occurs to me that you might be curious who I am, just in case you need to make a description for the authorities later. I’m a jack of many trades, master of maybe a quarter of one. I’m a father of two, husband of one, and I sometimes write about that. I teach English at public high school just outside of Atlanta (fear for the future), and I rarely write about that. I run often, for escape and inspiration and to prepare for the zombie apocalypse, and I write about that probably more than the average person cares. Finally, I’m a writer, with two novels drafted and in various stages of editing, and about a thousand more ideas kicking around inside my skull, looking for a way out.
That’s what my blog is really all about — the day-to-day trivialities of the average Pav, working a full-time job and more or less meeting the criteria of a dad and trying like hell to write good stories that might, one day, get published, so that you could hold a book of my work with my name on it, and so that I might hopefully get a couple of dollars for my trouble.
So, yeah. That’s me, and you’re you, and if you’ll just sign these non-disclosure agreements and your life-and-limb waivers, we’ll get started.