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Sunday, Nov. 30, 2003 / 6:22 p.m. ~The Life of a Procrastinator~ It's the final day for NaNoWriMo, and I never even tried to finish. I have no regrets, it was fun, and I still have over 13,000 words of a novel 'in progress'. Maybe one day I'll finish it, maybe I won't, but it was fun to think I'd actually do it, fun to be one of the participants. I honestly think the main reason I strayed was what happened at work. Not that I'm even attempting to make excuses at this point, I simply didn't finish, didn't even try, but really every time I've turned on my computer here at home it's been for diversion, to escape myself and my life as it is, and to write that novel, which is my life as it 'was', was just too much. I couldn't deal with that much introspection. That said, it's also Hermione's little girl's fifth birthday, and I might call later, just to wish her a happy one. I hardly know what to say to a five year old on the phone though. I feel like I can get through the main reason for calling, but then I'll fall short on words. I'd almost rather leave a message, write an email. I ordered her a sweater on Amazon last night. It was a total impulse purchase, as I was there for some other reason - I was looking for information on a writer whose author photo I took for one of his book jackets, just wanted to see if he's still writing, if the book jacket photo is anywhere online, if my photo is online. It's not. Neither is. The book is out of print, he only wrote one book after that one, or had one published anyway. So there I was at Amazon.com suddenly, and I ordered the sweater for her, very cute stripey thing, with zipper, to be mailed directly to her (I hope they send the receipt to me though), and Moby's "18 - B Sides" with bonus DVD - I don't own a DVD player though - and a 365 Cats calendar and other calendar whose interior I didn't even see for me. That's a first for me, ordering a calendar sight unseen. Impulse shopping. The best kind. The temps outside have dropped, last night was in the low 30s, and it's consequently cold in here. My downstairs neighbor must be out of town, because if she were home she'd have her heater on and it would help warm this place up a bit. I slept with sweatshirt, flannel pants and wool socks on last night, too not in the mood (I refuse to say lazy) to get out down comforter and put it on the bed, but I did finally sleep in my bed, first time since Wednesday night. Sleeping on the sofa can be fun, but bed is where sleeping is best. It's been another lazy four day weekend, one of zero accomplishments, zip, nada, niente. I did go to a movie, but just one, and that's fine as I realize there is so very little showing in theatres that I want to see. I saw "Shattered Glass", about journalist Stephen Glass, one who fabricated his 'nonfiction' articles for The New Republic back in '98. Good movie, good story, good acting, I recommend. Especially if you are at all interested in journalism or ethics or writing, which most people probably are interested in, at least one of the above. I also watched a couple prison movies on TV last night, "The Hill", starring Sean Connery. Very dismal, stifling, hard to stomach thing, and "Escape From Alcatraz", quite decent Clint Eastwood film. Seen it before, but it's worth a second or third or fourth viewing. Thoughts of work keep popping in my head, they started last night, and I'm not sure why really, except I have no idea what tomorrow will be like. Our department should be shut down, phone lines turned off, but we don't know for sure. Kukla and I are in charge of redirecting all the mail, and taking calls for one service we will continue to provide. I ate the food she brought me, dirty rice, chicken and rice, and, *gulp*, chicken livers blended with cornbread, or so it tasted like. Once heated I could smell exactly what it was, but I mixed it all together, and it was like a Cajun rice pate. (add accent mark to that 'e' in your mind) My fingers are cold, I'm tired from too much sleep, I'm thinking of things that need doing, but I can't fathom doing them. I imagine I'll sit in front of the TV, or in front of the computer. I long for the days when I got things done, when I had energy and tackled whatever was presented, whatever was before me. In so many ways, in my life, and this doesn't make me terribly sad, not now, I've given up. I have. It's weird to recognize it as such, but it's true. I just don't care anymore, about so many things. It's maybe like I'm internalizing everything, the material no longer matters, which is good, potentially, but it's the maintenance of the material that is calling out to me, saying, "Clean me!" or "Wash me!" or "Care for me!", and I'm saying, yes, yes, later, later, you will wait until I am ready, and yet I'm never ready. All the things that need doing I look at and say, on the weekend, but then it's a four day weekend and I'm still looking, saying, on the... oh, wait, er, well, um, uh, later. It's well past later. I'm not fretting, not at all, just noticing. I long for drive, ambition, energy, time. Cost of the War in Iraq
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