reading:
John Bowe (ed): Gig: Americans Talk About Their Jobs
Gail Simone: Birds of Prey
Sarah Vowell: Take the Cannoli
Howard Zinn: People's History of the U.S.
Still haven't done any writing. Still a horrible failure as a human being. But it's only sort of my fault!
See, got home last night at the usual time, and decided to take a big damn swing at the five scripts weighing down my side table. After about two hours and two point five scripts, however, I started to get a little drowsy. So I laid down on my bed, closed my eyes...
...and woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing. A wrong number, yes, but a rightly timed alarm. It was 11 PM.
I sighed as I slowly returned to consciousness, stumbling around my room and calling back the people who'd called me during my coma. Once that was done, I plunked down in front of the TiVo, figuring that a precious first-season episode of DS9 would lull me back into slumber...
My phone rang again.
It was the High Priest of my cool nerdy friends. "Liz?" he said. "We're going to the Snake Pit. You must come as well."
I looked down at the tent-like sweatshirt I was wearing, toothpaste stains on the cuffs and the cracked puffy paint spelling out There's no place like Toronto! "Well, I'm..."
"Were you asleep?"
I sighed. "Not really."
"Well, we're going to be at the Snake Pit. And it will be glorious."
I gazed at my bed, the comforter rumpled by the three hours of sleep I'd already gotten, still warm from the weight of my body...
And then I changed out of my pajamas and went to the Snake Pit. A dive bar on Melrose with a fantastic jukebox, good drinkin', and a great name.
Got home at 1, finished the episode of DS9 I'd started, then crawled off to bed for a few more hours of slumber.
I had a cup of coffee at noon today. My goal? Go to the gym, go home, take a shower, and then get eight hours of sleep tonight.