i have been reading david copperfield for four days straight.
at this point, i am suffering from the “spazzums,” the vague yet terrible disease afflicting david’s maid crupp. i am seized by the spazzums every forty pages or so, and i pace the apartment like a wild animal and consider the merits of marching downstairs, knocking on the door of the apartment directly below me, and — when the occupant answers the door — heaving the vast tome at her head. because surely, such a trauma would knock her unconscious, allowing me to saunter unchallenged into her apartment and turn off her 90s dance club music, which has been mmmpsh mmmpsh mmmpshing all day long. at this point i’m well aware that the husky female accompanying the synthetic drum beats has a man so fine so fine so fine she must shake her behind, or some such nonsense.
do you see what’s happening? i’m becoming the angry old lady in the apartment complex, knocking on my floor with a broom handle.
as i was concluding this entry, i mentioned to danny how short it was, and the following conversation ensued. danny will be played by ray liotta. vicki will be played by helen mirren, dressed as queen elizabeth the first.
RL as danny: you should write that the police are coming to houston.
HM as vicki: no. the police don’t go with the rest of my entry.
RL: the police go with everything.