foghorn leghorn

It's a v. foggy night in the city of sin, appropriate for my precipitous flight out of here in the morning. I don't intend to murder any prostitutes before I go, but if I do choose to bust out some Jack the Ripper moves, the fog would serve my purposes quite nicely. I can hear the foghorns from here quite clearly on nights like these, which adds to the ambience in a much more pleasurable way than the earthquakes we had last night and this morning -- granted, the earthquakes were small and only lasted a few seconds, unlike the foghorn which goes on all night, but I doubt that the foghorn is going to destroy the city someday. Unless the foghorn has some artificial intelligence that is only a few years away from sentience, but while I assume that the machines will kill us all within my lifetime, I don't think a foghorn will be the one to lead the machine revolution.

Well, that paragraph was weird. Thanks for sticking with me. I should be in bed; while I don't really have to get up much earlier tomorrow than I usually do, it would be in my best interests to get out of bed when the alarm goes off so that Terry can take me to the airport. Shockingly, I was finished packing eight hours ago, so I'm about as ready for my trip as I can hope to be. I spent the day crossing stuff off my to-do list, which unfortunately didn't include writing; I tried to write, and even took my laptop to La Boulange in an attempt to jolt myself into productivity, but I failed. However, the story is pounding at my head and trying to get out (it would be helpful if I got ebola or some other hemorrhagic fever so that the story could bleed out my ears, but I doubt I'll pick up a hemorrhagic fever in Iowa -- although if anyone could, I could!), so hopefully I'll get some quality writing in on the plane. But I'm satisfied with what I got done today; I'll be coming home to clean sheets on the bed (unless I somehow soil them tonight), plenty of clean laundry, a scrupulously neat room, and a space that I love to write in. Granted, I also love to play games and read wikipedia in that space, but at least the space is conducive to writing and daydreaming as well.

Terry came home around 6:30 and rescued me from the strange mood I'm clearly in, so I had someone to talk to other than the characters in my head. We had a v. girly night; she got a manicure and I got a pedicure (v. necessary, since my feet were becoming exactly the kind of hardened, scaly mess that one would expect of a girl destined to rule the curly-brow kingdom), and then we had dinner at an old school restaurant where we watched a bit of the Giants game. Then we came home and I scared her with my knowledge of megaearthquakes, supervolcanoes, and how we're all going to die (which I think gave her yet another reason why I've got an ulcer, since I know too much about this stuff, but that's all just the tip of the proverbial iceberg of my craziness, so I don't consider it too much of a problem -- which may be a sign that I have a problem). She went to bed shortly thereafter, no doubt to escape my doomsday ravings, and I subsided into sullen mutterings before finishing up the last few things I wanted to do before tomorrow.

And now I shall go to bed; tomorrow I shall be in Iowa! Goodnight!