She's Got the Look

It messes with your head to finish "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," at nine o'clock, Sunday morning. Cats mysteriously appear on top of the shower door and you crave grapefruit. Not that these things wouldn't happen anyway, it's just convenient context.

I wanted to see "Sin City," but I've been too lazy to leave the apartment. I slept for four hours in the middle of Saturday. I woke once to BF shaking me. I said, "Leave me alone, I have mono." He didn't believe me, so I said, "Yes I do and you will be sad when you find out you have it too." He let me be after that.

My Skechers are broken, so I'm breaking in my hiking shoes. It stretches the boundaries of business casual, but I am now the only one in my office qualified to deal with hiking emergencies.   What's that? There's a rockslide in the kitchen? Two programmers trapped? I'm on it!. That's job security, right there.

The play is slow writing, but I think about it constantly. There's another workshop tonight, which means I get to see horrified looks on all the ladies' faces again. It's a cross between wide-eyed disbelief and uncertainty. It's a "Let me get this straight..." look, scrunched up face, head swinging back and forth or set in stock still puzzlement. I feel like I've given away lots of clues about the upcoming plot twist, but no one's guessed it yet. Next time I write, I'll probably have to write the twist. Maybe that's why I'm stalling. I don't want to let the ladies' stand on solid ground. I want to keep them in this lovely anticipatory limbo.