One Broken Promise Deserves Another

I said I wouldn't talk about politics, and I did. Now, let's also talk about my personal life. I promise it's writing-related.

These past few weeks, and particularly these past few days, have seen an explosion in my social life. Sara's wedding reminded me of some of the fantastic people I have not gotten to see of late, and my own birthday saw me remembering what wonderful friends I've got right in my own backyard.

Last night seems like it was at least a week ago, so twisted and inside-out is the tunnel of my perception; I got a chance to visit with an old friend and his new girlfriend, and play some board games and chill out free of any other responsibility. Then there was a couch in the dark and a few hours sleep, an overcast morning, and a sleepy train ride with a very strange, very chatty man with golden-brown skin who insisted he worked in chemical engineering and was about to commit domestic abuse (I would have called someone if I wasn't certain he was either hallucinating or kidding). After that was breakfast and dinner with my mother along with driving all over the Bay Area, to books and IKEA and to various other places besides, ending with my domesticity increased and a whole evening to relax. Then I went upstairs, and finished making plans with a very old, very dear friend from college, and took some time for TVTropes, and proceeded to discover that it was 9:45pm, that I had indeed slept on a couch last night, and that I was hoping to attend the farmer's market in the morning--which reminded me to go withdraw cash and pick up the few things I could afford at Safeway but not from the farmers--and which then brought me around to 10:15 or so.

All of this is to say that I am happy, but have also done no writing today, nor indeed yesterday. I have also eaten somewhat poorly, or at least to excess, and that is a problem; and as I sit here, playing a video game and contemplating sleep, I consider that life is too short and that playing video games will never be my career. Tonight, I am drained, and I should accept drainage; but tomorrow, I need to get back on track with writing.

1000 words a day, as often as I can--try to take no more than two days off a week, and try not to write only for the sake of word count. Submit more stories. Talk to more agents. Be louder. If it's this easy to lose track of what day it is, I could easily find myself discovering I've turned forty--and I don't want to have let my passion die on the vine.