Days 7, 8 & 9, Rocking Softly

I didn't write this weekend.

Don't judge me. I'll catch up! I always do! That's how I work! I work best under tremendous pressure. I will lock myself in my bedroom, turn the heat all the way to its Hellfire setting, pump up the Ramstein and write as fast as my tiny little fingers bleed.

I wrote some at CTTP Friday before dinner with the dr. I had made reservations at the Brassica Supperclub which came complete with hush hush location and password to get in. We didn't get to whisper the password into the hole to be let in as there were other people entering at the same time we were but the whole covert operation was cool and made the idea of dinner exciting.

Unfortunately, the Supperclub was busted by the cops. Undercover sting operation and everything. The only things missing were door bustings and guns and people with badges screaming at a room full of vegans to drop the broccoli and put their hands above their heads. Slowly. No funny business.

Dinner, despite the sad news, was lovely. The chefs took the time to discuss the meal and their ingredients as we finished up desert. The general atmosphere was one of annoyance at the whole 'bust' but everyone seemed rather hopeful that they would figure something out.

I spent all Saturday with Jeff hibernating and managed to pry myself from bed Sunday morning to meet up with Sadia for a movie, some food, putzing in Noe Valley before heading to Oakland to see our friend Jordan perform at Mama Buzz with the Oakland Soft Rock Choir.

Jordan and Benji explained that on a good day, the choir is 16 people strong and on a bad day, they're 6 people. The show Sunday night had a decent showing of choir members as they drank gigantic beers and sang their little hearts out. They even debuted a new song they've been working on. A RICHARD MARX song.

I got home to find Blake and Blinky on the couch and we stayed up til the wee hours talking about writing, genre fiction v. literary fiction and the perils of online journaling.

Despite trying to get to bed by midnight I found myself staring at the wrong end of 3AM. Both ends are the wrong end of 3AM. There is no right end. Nothing is right when you need to be up at 8AM for an interview. I needed to be bright, interesting and confident this morning.

Without much trouble I woke up at 8, managed to not hit the snooze button and put on the interview clothes I had set aside the night before. I got on 2 buses and ended up in Potrero Hill earlier then anticipated so I walked up and down, up and down, the little hills in this odd area of town. I still had "You're the Inspiration" by Chicago stuck in my head from the night before and I played it over and over, trying to get it to leave me. Listening to other music did not help. While waiting for BART on the way home last night 'dia and I sang the end of the song over and over as it lent itself to looping over and over into infinity. By the time I arrived at the destination for my interview I was a tad bit sweaty and full of Peter Cetera inspiration.

The interview went well. I wouldn't say it was a home run. It's difficult to tell really. I hope for the best and plug away.

I'm just glad I sat on someone else's wad of gum after my interview and not before. The butt of my pants smell like Watermelon Bubblicious.

I went from the interview to the gym to home and by the time I got home I wanted to do nothing but crawl into bed but I knew the novel was calling so I packed up my shit and made my way to CTTP. And it was full of students and not the usual varied hobo-like miscreants sleeping on the couches. I would need to challenge someone to a duel for an outlet so I walked out and made my way back home. To bed. The Lord wanted me to go back to bed so he filled my coffee shop with Gap sweatshirts and tennis shoes.

I hope to get more writing accomplished tonight. I hope. Maybe. I can haz nap?