Last night I set my alarm to wake me, despite being pretty worried how it would feel when it woke me up (Tuesdays are my early days), and woke in the morning with a sensation that it was later than I was supposed to wake up. Lately, I've been waking right before my alarm goes off (leading me to think I ought to start setting it a half hour earlier every day, just to get that much more awake time each morning), and I waited for the alarm to go off . . . but it didn't. When I finally looked at the clock, it was past my time, and I wondered what had happened.
It was a busy day. I had an appointment--had to have a physical exam, in the era of COVID-19, and that was weird, because the doctor still had to listen to my breathing and check my reflexes, but wouldn't feel my lymph nodes or check my ears.
I did some writing, though not nearly enough. I meant to go to the library, but I had to mow the lawn and go on my run, and my uncle was coming over (he had meant to the night before, but fell asleep, so we rescheduled for Tuesday), and I called up Marshal Latham and we did a quick podcast about the Star Wars Celebration in August being canceled. He was bummed about that, and I'd like to think that he was also sad that we couldn't go on our road trip together.
And speaking of sad, you know that girl I like? Today I saw her briefly (it's always briefly, he said with a wistful sigh), and she was singing along to the radio, and it was to Justin Bieber (and not one of the forgivable old, slightly-charming Bieber songs, but the new, mediocre, overplayed, unmusical, charm-free song you hear constantly on the radio), and while usually, I am incapable of saying anything clever to her (and worse: sometimes no words whatsoever), today I said to her, "Is that a Justin Bieber song? Huh. I've discovered your one flaw."
And . . . nothing. Not a smile, not a laugh.* Dude, if I had written that line in a story it would have struck me as a smooth, impressive line of dialogue. But in real life, with that particular person, I might as well have said nothing at all. Sigh.
Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In June: 1934
So, let's see. I had the read-through (the table-read) for my script today. I was surprised how well it went. There were two typos that I noticed, but nobody else called me on them. I received a few good notes afterward, but nothing drastic. Basically, just cut it down, which I knew was coming anyway. I got an idea I liked for a scene (not an additional scene, just swapping out one bit for a new, tighter bit).
I had forgotten how good a screenwriter I was. Guess it took this to remind me of my first, best destiny.** Maybe I ought to say a few words about that in a podcast.
Anyway, my Uncle Len came over to do karaoke with me, and that was actually pretty great. He's a good singer, but his voice is so high (he always wants to do harmony and let me do the main bit) that after a few songs, he couldn't sing anymore. He was very positive, as usual, and super complimentary about my own singing. I'd love to go out to a karaoke bar again with him, but we wouldn't get in nearly as many songs as we did in the living room with the karaoke machine he got for my sister. He likes Country songs, and I know so few of them (I did listen to the Country station the whole drive up to the cabin this week, and heard the song I first heard last week when I chose that station, and one song from back when I listened to Country--She's In Love by Faith Hill, which I still knew and brought me back to the me from twenty years ago, trying hard to pursue my dreams, despite my own worthlessness eventually catching up with me).
I headed over to my cousin's house, and we watched "What We Do In The Shadows," which was fun, but after only two episodes, I couldn't keep my eyes open, and I basically slept through the third episode we watched, and then had to go home to get some shut-eye. Still did my sit-ups before I went to sleep, but I have no reason to (except that it was a goal I set, and I'd hate for a little melancholy to keep me from achieving a fairly doable goal).
Words Today: 615 (except that I did work on my script for a few minutes, but was paring it down, so it's not going to count as words if I try to do the math)
Words In June: 15,726
*I made a much lamer joke to her coworker--Chelsey, who had dyed her hair platinum blonde--saying, "Did you change your hair? Would you mind singing Let It Go with me later?" And she laughed out loud, like it was actually funny (which it wasn't). I can't catch a break.
**Sorry about the arrogance of that statement. I normally worry I'm not that good a writer, but that's because all my talents lie in dialogue and story, not in prose or pacing, and screenplays are just easier.
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