It's technically September 13th, but until Cynosure announces its winners as promised, it's still the 12th in all ways that matter to me. I have absolutely no reason to believe that I'll win or even place - quite the contrary. But waiting gives the night character. It makes my passing of time goal-oriented
I spent about half-an-hour ironing socks. I just set the iron on each folded pair and let it hiss and gurgle while I searched out the next match. They stack better steamed and flattened.
As I once again begin cutting my smoking back to "only from bumming," I speculate that my lethargy might be better alleviated by coffee than by will power. A tall cup today pulled me through the tedium of 3 PM, the third 3PM in as many days. This allowed me to put together a few more script packets, as well as preparing for cold-calling and query-lettering. I also bathed my dog, sent some mail, brushed my dog, put air in my tires, bought milk, and had an ATM refuse to sell me stamps. Post-filming, this monumental amount of activity has only been matched when I deced to mow an acre of grandma's grass with a push mower.
So, perhaps coffee is the answer.
Then again, I also spent the entire day in movie-surplus navy-blue zip-up cover-alls, courtesy of Momentary Engineering. It was meant to state my seriousness about getting writing done.
Notice. Writing was not on my list of things I got done.