My head hurts too much to even attempt to be witty tonight. Oddly, I'm actually in a better mood despite the headache, which doesn't seem quite fair. But, I suppose I'll take it, and if my slowly improving mood is any indicator, maybe I'll actually get some serious writing done tomorrow.
Because I stayed up too late, I didn't have a lot of time to get stuff done this morning -- unfortunate, since I woke up to a super annoying email telling me that the deadline I was on track to meet for submitting awards ceremony theme proposals had, at some point in the past, and without notification, changed from October 30 to October 14. So instead of being early (shocking for me, but I'm trying to come in early on the ceremony rather than hitting the deadline day-of), we're suddenly ten days late. Ugh -- I hate people and their stupid deadlines. Properly miffed, I drove down to Palo Alto and got slowly unmiffed (that sounds oddly dirty) with Alyssa. Our workout was half workout, half therapy session; she consistently tells me that I'm too hard on myself (wherever did she get that idea?), and so I took most of the rest of the day off at her suggestion.
It wasn't entirely her suggestion; the day would have conspired against me anyway. I ate a quick lunch at the gym cafe, then drove up to the evil city and saw Susie for a bang trim; she told me a quick and dirty story of a guy she'd gone on a date with, so I left with a bounce in my step and the ability to see without my bangs scratching my corneas. I proceeded from there to Nordstrom, where I bought a bag that was virtually free because I've been hoarding Nordstrom Notes; I had to buy something since some of my notes expire at the end of the month, so I got a lovely red bag that will hold all my myriad notebooks and tings when I go to the library. I need another bag built for notebooks like I need another lipgloss or pair of shoes or hair tie or comforter or Starbucks mug...I think you get the idea. But I love it, so screw you for judging my hoarding ways.
I stopped at Whole Foods after Nordstrom and stocked up on gluten-free goodies -- and that phrase wasn't actually as sarcastic as it sounded. It turns out that my beloved, adored Amy's enchiladas are gluten free; Alyssa doesn't like me eating things that I don't cook myself, but if the choice is between Amy's enchiladas and a whole jar of trail mix, I have a feeling the enchiladas would win. With that slightest, briefest glimmer of happiness, I drove home and made the roasted tomatoes that I make for my favorite caprese salad -- that salad is gluten free and also delicious, so it's a nice thing to have.
While the tomatoes roasted in the oven, I listened to the first half of my cousin Drewbaby's football game on the internet. They ended up winning handily (42-7, I believe), but I stopped listening when Drewbaby's team clearly had it well in hand. It's still a bit odd to me that the kid is athletic (and a senior in high school), but I'm sure it's odd to him that I'm a romance novelist, so c'est la vie. After I turned off the game, I wrote a page of the romance novel -- and it didn't go too badly, but I let myself off the hook when the tomatoes were done. I cooked some hamburgers (one for tonight, three for subsequent meals over the next few days), cut up some fresh mozzarella, and ate my delicious gluten-free feast while watching last week's episode of Craig Ferguson in which he and the robot have a Connery-off to see who has the best Sean Connery accent (Craig won handily).
Terry showed up shortly thereafter and made me a cosmo, at which point I was done for the night. So we watched two episodes of "Bones" as part of my continued directed reading to get me caught up on the series in time for the premiere. While I'm not quite as fanatical as Terry is (and I do sometimes wonder if she will turn into a cannibalistic serial killer out of absolutely nowhere as an homage to the show), I will say that the writing is quite good and the chemistry between the main characters is excellent. And David Boreanaz is hot hot hot, particularly when you picture him as an ex-sniper FBI agent rather than a cheating bastard of an actor.
After "Bones", I felt suitably calm enough to deal with the deadline issue from this morning, and now I really must sleep. If my brain doesn't explode tonight, I have high hopes for tomorrow's writing session. But if I don't write a million pages tomorrow, I must remember that it's not the end of the world. Goodnight!
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