Friday

I did in fact get my short story work in today and my morning pages, but all of my other writing seems to have gone out the window. Everything else that I needed to do took twice as long to do, in some sort of Vulcan Mind Warp:

• Woke up at 3 a.m. and couldn't sleep. Finished the Anthony Bourdain memoir, reviewed it, and loaded the Naipaul book on GoodReads.
• Slept from 4:30-7, then fell back to sleep.
• Woke up at 9. Criminently. Wrote morning pages, had breakfast, did dishes, walked up the hill for exercise and energy, bought stuff for lunch.
• 11:15, put laundry in. Worked on short story. Switched to dryer at 11:50. Worked on short story.
• Made a lunch that will be leftovers through Monday.
• Read two articles in The New Yorker.
• Walked, got coffee. And here I am at 4.

And I have evening concert plans. So the day is pretty much shot.

But, dammit, I got to that short story now, didn't I?