i almost "nawed" my arm off

Thank you for bearing with the prolonged silence. I am suddenly swamped with work -- a good thing, of course, as it means that I will not run the risk of wasting away to skeletal remains, something I know you were all terrified about. Without work, after all, it is impossible to purchase the diet bread, fake cheese, pounds of apples, and other assorted disgusting items with which I sustain life in the Fort. (I was appalled, upon coming home from another manuscript delivery trip to UPS today, to find that Phillip had ordered a large pepperoni pie from Marcello's, done away with it, and stashed the box under the bed in the short time it had taken me to do my errand. In answer to my shocked gasp, he made a staunch, indicative sweeping gesture toward the innards of the refrigerator and glared at me haughtily. By the empty space that had formerly housed the "emergency money" he had stolen for his pizza was a note written in my red pencil: CANNOT LIVE ON DIET BREAD ALONE. I don't know whether he meant himself or me, but probably himself, as he did not save any of the pizza to share with me.) Later on, proofreading up a frenzy, I came upon an error in the text that read,
"I almost nawed my arm off,"
and thought of Phillip again, thinking he could have done a bit better in his note, if he'd only tried, and spelled a little less punctiliously.

When I have come out from under the swamp, however, I have things to tell you: about the advice I've received concerning the correlation between breast milk and marathon running; the tales I've heard about raves in the woods, obscene tattoos, and human-size man-made gumball machines; the best chicken in San Francisco; and the fine art of converting terror into excitement, with the knowledge that the San Francisco Marathon is but a mere three days away.

I leave you with the most superb alertness straight out of bed on video. Till soon.