poetry of defiance

I'm beyond tired; why did I think that, after getting up at 7:30 this morning (and not sleeping particularly well last night), I should then stay up until two a.m. reading a book? Stupid. But that's how I roll, as we all know. I had my romance writer meeting this morning, and it went v. well; my freelance editor was a successful speaker, and I had a v. lovely, v. long lunch with the group after the meeting. Then, the speaker and I made our slow progress back across the bay bridge and I dropped her off at the Ferry Building to meet up with a friend of hers; the editor is a former New Yorker and was more than happy to take herself on the BART to the airport rather than using me to take her tonight, which was more than welcome to me.

So since I didn't have to take her to the airport, I came home, hung out with Terry, and ended up drinking three daiquiris, eating leftover homemade curry, and watching the Olympics/reading all night. You'll notice there was no writing in that statement, but I need to read occasionally or I forget why I love books and why I struggle so valiantly (whinily) to write them. The Olympics tonight were v. odd, though; they opened with a full HOUR of Tom Brokaw doing a full-on documentary about the beginning of World War II, the Battle of Britain, the Blitz, etc. It was really a fantastic bit of television, but other than mentioning that the first American to die in combat in WWII (a fighter pilot who volunteered for Britain) was a two-time Olympic gold medalist in bobsled in 1928 and 1932, and to mention that for most of the current athletes WWII is just a bunch of black and white documentaries, the piece really seemed to have nothing at all to do with the Olympics. So it was bizarre that it existed, and bizarre that Terry and I both wrote honors theses on WWII and so could sit there and drink too many daiquiris while debating Hitler's strategy. Ha.

After that, the Olympics paled in comparison, although men's diving was v. exciting. And while I kept an eye on track and field, I also read a book, which I really should have stopped reading; it was awful, but the story was just interesting enough that I kept reading because I kept hoping it would be better. And so now, fueled with the fact that other mediocre writers get published and have massive success, I'm going to bed -- goodnight!