It was a god-rotten day at work, and the week promises more. As I wrote in my imagined resignation letter, "they continue to pile on new work, but fail to pile on new pay."
I escaped early and blew money on things I didn't need, including a pack of cigarettes. For these splurges, I go to Staples.
Once home, I took up the dog-clippers, and cut off most of my hair. I'm not sure what I think of the results, but the cutting was therapeutic.
I now have a subtle understanding of women and random hair-dying. My appearance alteration hasn't changed the world, or even me - but it has certainly made a monument to my frustration. And since I'm largely lacking people to witness my explosions, a monument to my explosion is appreciated. Even if most won't understand its significance.
Since then, I've chatted on the phone with Sodini and Boyle. The latter provided much needed feedback on the short screenplay I'm tickering with. I think now that I have a road map to improvement - one that will shorten, not lengthen, the trip.
So! I'm off to bed - not so much to sleep, as to nap - hoping some of the calls I've tossed out there will be returned. Tomorrow, I mail Blaring Static to the producer who requested it, and Ladies and Gentlemen to the Cynosure Screenwriting Awards.