I met one of my two goals today -- and, quite unusually, it was the gym goal rather than the writing goal. Perhaps it's a sign of just how blocked I'm feeling that I was actually looking forward to going to the gym instead of writing. Today wasn't entirely representative, though; I was waiting most of the morning/afternoon to find out if I finaled in this contest I entered (with a v. rough version of my first 50 pages back in July, before I killed off Ferguson's father and changed the whole story), and so was checking email every five minutes. I finally went to the gym so I would stop obsessing, and found out when I got home that I didn't final, which pretty much destroyed any desire to write the rest of the day. Woe is me, I know.
But, the gym was awesome -- the fact that the locker room is so nice that I would rather shower there than drive the five minutes back to my house is a pretty good indication of why I like the place. I spent forty minutes on a recumbent bike while reading another couple of chapters of the book that I started last night, and then showered with their incredibly awesome Kiehl's products, blow dried my hair, and went out to face the rest of the day.
I think I could be quite a happy camper if I get into the routine that I intend to get into -- writing three or four hours in the morning, then going to the gym in the afternoon. It's just a matter of getting into the routine, sticking with it, and not getting too discouraged with Madeleine and Ferguson. I was really hating them today, to an inordinate degree, and have been feeling like perhaps I should throw in the towel with them and start something new; but after spending a year and a half off and on with them, I'm not really ready to kill them just yet. But after two weeks of essentially slothlike behavior, it's time to either put up or shut up, so writing tomorrow starts with a vengeance.
After talking to my parents, I watched some of Game 4 of the World Series, then abandoned it to have dinner with Irish Matt. He just flew into town this evening, so I'm surprised he made it as far as he did (although around 9:30, he said that he was about to collapse and needed to leave, like, at once, which we promptly did). We went to Joya in Palo Alto, where the greeters were dressed in their best slutoween outfits (which, sadly or amazingly, were not so different from their regular outfits -- Joya is kind of a scene, but it has fantastic food). He had a steak, I had salmon, he had two glasses of zinfandel, and I had half a glass of zin and a glass of the same champagne I was serving at my party last week (which may have been a mistake). We wrapped it all up with a plate of churros with chocolate sauce, which I was way more into than he was. It was fantastic to see him; he's going to be too busy most of the rest of the week to hang out, but even if I don't see him again, he makes it out here a few times a year, and I have high hopes for an extended European adventure next summer, in which I hope he features as a major guest star.
Now, it's only eleven, but I'm going to go to bed in hopes of resetting my body clock so that I can start getting up earlier. Goodnight!
No comments:
Post a Comment