I should have gone to bed ages and ages ago; it always seems to happen that I stay up the latest on nights before mornings when I actually have to get out of bed at a normal-person hour. I moved Friday's training session with Alyssa to tomorrow since I need to be in Palo Alto tomorrow night anyway, but she could only take me at ten instead of eleven - which means I need to get up and battle traffic. Ugh.
Today was mostly ugh as well, if I'm being honest. I made it down to Palo Alto and Alyssa with no problems, and our training session was great. Then I went to Joanie's and wrote some more notes about my first book whilst eating my usual salad; the notes were good and all, but they certainly weren't polished, perfect scenes (which is what I'm going to need with increasing desperation over the next few weeks). I came back to the city of sin to avoid the rain-ruined traffic patterns, stopped at the grocery store, came home, cleaned out the fridge so that I had room to stow my groceries, and by the time I sat down at my desk, it was four o'clock.
And then Steve Jobs passed away, which threw Twitter and all my other tech sites into a frenzy of mourning. I was unexpectedly sad about it; the man did achieve an incredible amount in his lifetime, and his vision has, perhaps as much or more than any other single human in the past thirty years, completely changed the world. I have three Apple products within two feet of me right now (macbook, ipad, ipod -- and I suppose it's five if you count my bluetooth keyboard and bluetooth trackpad), and Apple is one of the drivers in the content revolution that will ultimate determine whether it's possible to make it as a self-pubbed author (or, one could argue, any kind of author at all). So, Steve Jobs's passing is quite sad, particularly when one wonders how his vision would have changed the world in the next two decades if he hadn't died so young.
Anyway, I spent the rest of the night taking care of a variety of tasks that I absolutely loathed the idea of doing, but I knew that I needed to get them off my plate so that I could focus my mental energy on my novel rather than on avoiding all thought of those tasks. Luckily, I accomplished all of them -- but between the tasks themselves and the extreme procrastination between tasks, it's now 1:30a.m. One of my methods of procrastination was making some chicken fajitas (sans tortillas, but with my favorite storebought Casa Sanchez guac and salsa) and watching the season premiere of "Hawaii 5-O". Granted, a girl's gotta eat, so making supper wasn't procrastination -- but one could also argue that a girl's gotta see Alex O'Loughlin wearing a wifebeater and orange prison pants, doing some really hot pushups, then getting shanked and dramatically escaping prison (with his abdomen bleeding copiously, and doing a cleanup job in a gas station bathroom) to find the evidence necessary to prove that he was innocent of the crime he supposedly committed at the end of last season. Actually, you can stop at him doing really hot pushups. All I'm saying is that I don't usually gush over such stuff, but even I felt a flutter of something that I can only guess was attraction rather than indigestion.
And on that somewhat seamy note, I'm going to bed. Goodnight!
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