There's some sort of conference call I'm supposed to be on at 7am, tomorrow morning, which is seriously going to cut into my sleeping time, or as I like to call it, cat torture time. The cats have got it down. They know precisely one hour before I wake up, and when the clock strikes it they commence torturing. Claws against walls, doors, tails banging against windows, paws repeatedly striking the glass shower door, whatever makes noise... whatever makes me rise from my cocoon of slumber with the water bottle shouting, "I'm bustin' skulls, bitches!" At least that's what it'd translate to if one could translate my prolonged groan into idiomatic English. The cats hide 'til I collapse in a crumpled pile and then begin the beguine again.
Let's see. I've been learning lots about quantum mechanics and superstring theory. I'm trying to come up with ideas for the next play I'm going to write. The current play I'm working on is one-third finished, thirty pages down. The workshop instructor gave me a deadline of June 15 to get it in, but that'll be tight. To make that date I should be writing two pages a night, and that's just not happening.
I ran twelve minutes in a row yesterday, on the treadmill. Who wants to touch me?
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