(In case that isn't legibile, it says "If I knew I'd die tomorrow, I wouldn't go to work today.")
I have to admit, occasionally this town surprises me with something cool. In this case, we have been suffering from a rash of really interesting graffiti. Today I came across this gem while walking to my vaguely independent record store. I’m probably going to turn this into an entire chapter of my novel. I have a lot of thoughts on this little piece of wisdom on a wall. I’m not sure if it matches the majesty of seeing “Tom Cruise” written on a wall every day but it is close. Certainly weren’t expected.
(By the way, I’m beginning to collect chapter titles for my novel. One is going to be called “The future is no place for your better days” and another is going to be called “Whatcha doing.” I’ll probably write that chapter in the next few weeks as it is a standalone piece. It involves every answer that I can think of to that question and it should be cool in theory.)
I’m not sure if I should apologize for yesterday’s post or not. It definitely was a first for me. In two and a half years of writing I have never, to my knowledge, written while hungover. I’ve written after having spent the night drinking (though that is much less common than people imagine) but I’ve never tried to write while simultaneously battling a headache and a desire to just lie on the couch for a few hours. It wasn’t that Saturday night was that wild, it’s just that I closed the bar and then instead of sleeping in decided to wake up early so that I could watch the pre-race coverage. Somehow I don’t envision Hemmingway ever having to make that decision.
Actually, that is one of those things I’ve always admired about guys like Hemmingway and Fitzgerald. I have no idea how you can be self-destructive and an effective writer. I’m not talking about this from a creativity standpoint, I’m dealing with more of the practical matters like “How do you type while drunk?” Those guys do have an advantage over me as they don’t have to remember to hit the save button at the end of the night or worry that they’ll click the wrong button and lose six months worth of work. But still, I can barely be functional in the morning and these guys were writing the great American novel after spending the night drinking Absinthe.
So basically yesterday was a complete washout for me. It shouldn’t have been but I decided to basically spend the night sitting on my couch and sulking. It didn’t help that my upstairs neighbors decided to have a party and I decided to be all bitter about it. I mean, why should anyone else get to enjoy themselves on a holiday weekend? Basically I just spent the night being an idiot and tried to make up for it today by listening to a lot of music. Of course it just dawned on me that I have a big project I need to get done by Thursday that I haven’t even thought about starting because I didn’t write myself a note to get started on it. I’m the only person who can fall behind on a three day weekend.
That’s been it. I’ve been going a bit stir crazy that past few hours trying to think of things to do. I’m actually looking forward to going to the office tomorrow as it will at least give me something to do. Yeah, something is definitely wrong here.
(By the way, I’m beginning to collect chapter titles for my novel. One is going to be called “The future is no place for your better days” and another is going to be called “Whatcha doing.” I’ll probably write that chapter in the next few weeks as it is a standalone piece. It involves every answer that I can think of to that question and it should be cool in theory.)
I’m not sure if I should apologize for yesterday’s post or not. It definitely was a first for me. In two and a half years of writing I have never, to my knowledge, written while hungover. I’ve written after having spent the night drinking (though that is much less common than people imagine) but I’ve never tried to write while simultaneously battling a headache and a desire to just lie on the couch for a few hours. It wasn’t that Saturday night was that wild, it’s just that I closed the bar and then instead of sleeping in decided to wake up early so that I could watch the pre-race coverage. Somehow I don’t envision Hemmingway ever having to make that decision.
Actually, that is one of those things I’ve always admired about guys like Hemmingway and Fitzgerald. I have no idea how you can be self-destructive and an effective writer. I’m not talking about this from a creativity standpoint, I’m dealing with more of the practical matters like “How do you type while drunk?” Those guys do have an advantage over me as they don’t have to remember to hit the save button at the end of the night or worry that they’ll click the wrong button and lose six months worth of work. But still, I can barely be functional in the morning and these guys were writing the great American novel after spending the night drinking Absinthe.
So basically yesterday was a complete washout for me. It shouldn’t have been but I decided to basically spend the night sitting on my couch and sulking. It didn’t help that my upstairs neighbors decided to have a party and I decided to be all bitter about it. I mean, why should anyone else get to enjoy themselves on a holiday weekend? Basically I just spent the night being an idiot and tried to make up for it today by listening to a lot of music. Of course it just dawned on me that I have a big project I need to get done by Thursday that I haven’t even thought about starting because I didn’t write myself a note to get started on it. I’m the only person who can fall behind on a three day weekend.
That’s been it. I’ve been going a bit stir crazy that past few hours trying to think of things to do. I’m actually looking forward to going to the office tomorrow as it will at least give me something to do. Yeah, something is definitely wrong here.
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