I sat down to watch "The West Wing" (I've been watching it for a year, and I still haven't finished it, mostly because of nights like tonight), but made it only fifteen minutes in before I felt guilty for not working. My sister and brother-in-law and their kids are at a basketball game tonight, so I could do whatever I want, as loud as I want (I karaoke-ed "Take Me To Church" and "Take On Me," without fear that anyone might be listening).
I really ought to record something (I've got a couple of stories of mine I keep meaning to get out there, and the final pass is always doing them aloud), but I think maybe I'll drink a Pepsi right now (why not, I already ate an entire pizza by myself), ensuring I'll be up all night.
>I went back to the show, and after a half hour more, I got up and listed thirty-seven items for sale on eBay (that ate into my night, take my word for it). Poor Big A. hadn't written his thousand words yet (it's always harder for him on the weekends, since he's not stuck at work sorting through car crash footage, football highlights, and school shootings coverage--all equally horrible). But I called him anyway to tell him about a girl I went to the birthday party of in L.A., and ate into even more of his writing time. I told him I'd write too, if he needed the company, but he made it to a thousand on his own.
I went to the book signing I mentioned yesterday, and knowing I wouldn't have time to write about it in detail, I recorded about it, hoping to post my feelings here today. But . . . I don't have time to get the recording to my laptop, converted into a format I can use, edited, and posted on here today, so you'll have to come back tomorrow to listen to that. It should entertain you ("Are you not entertained?!").
I did go to the library before it closed, and I wrote the last two thousand words on "Last Friday In December." I think I mentioned just ending it abruptly yesterday, but I decided not to, and there are a couple of good moments between Nat and Mason today, so I'm glad I fit them in. Writing these two is like spending time with friends of mine, and I don't spend much time with friends these days.
The story itself turned out to be 11,604 words, and I'm glad I wrote it. Doesn't mean it's good, but hey, I need to be like Dean Wesley Smith, who plain doesn't give a turd if it's good or not, as long as you write it and put it out there. He's Big's hero.
And I guess that's it. I recorded another "Storage Unit Serenade" the last time I went to the place, but it was raining, and when I listened to it while transferring, I discovered the sound of the rain was really, really loud. I wonder if I should go over and do it again, or just release it as-is.*
Words Today: 2,001
Words Total: 34,718
*This is part of my effort to do stuff that scares me this month, and that reminds me: I went to the grocery store on Wednesday, and I saw a woman that I sort of know. I thought, "I ought to go over and say hello." But immediately, my hindbrain said, "Nope, not a good idea. Women really don't like you, remember?" And I told him, "I'm not going over to grab her buttocks or lick her hair or anything, I was just going to say hello." And my hindbrain said, "Nope, not a good idea. She'll think you're stalking her. Hey, maybe you are stalking her, did you ever consider that? You really came all the way to this grocery store for soup? Ha! A likely story."
So, I walked on past.
I got to the register, and felt that wonderful, all-too-familiar stain of shame wash over me, and thought, "Wow, have you really learned nothing? You know how long it's been since you woke up in the morning and
And that was it. No huge deal, for me or for her, but at least I could pay for my soup without feeling like a particularly-toxic fungus. And that's nice.
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