Well it’s not going so bad, today. I think the key was taking a shower. I took like an hour long shower and shave and got dressed in actual clothes and suddenly I didn’t feel like I was fucking everything up. So simple.
On the other hand it’s dark now. It’s almost six. And now I am starting to feel like I should be drinking, fuck it, I earned it, at the same time I am thinking I didn’t do shit.
The cold facts are that I took a shower, shaved, folded laundry, called that old dude, deleted a hundred and fifty emails from my inbox (down to 800 now), read twenty pages of Les Miserables, checked my blog stats thirty times, listened to Marc Maron interviewing Ian Edwards for 90 minutes, listened to some news stories, washed the dishes, and completed the first exercise in John Gardner’s The Art of Fiction.
Well, I think that is pretty good for the first of two days off, the one where I’m not supposed to do anything, but I’m sure it’s not enough to fend off the crushing weight of responsibility that 9 o’clock will bring. I’m trying to view this shit objectively.
Well it’s going better than I thought it would. But then again, I make that pretty easy. Ha! That’s pretty much my strategy. I’m pretty sure when I die I’m going to be relieved. “I knew this was going to happen. Son of a bitch! Oh well.”