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leahbobetNovember 21, 2009 Progress Notes:
"Nothing But Flowers"
Words today: 275.
Words total: 275.
Reason for stopping: I've laid the sod here, and now I would like to go and read.
Darling du Jour: Their apartment is the epitome of bohemian splendor: concrete-and-plank bookcases, dirty coffee mugs, and old copies of alternative weeklies.
Mean Things: I can't even map that yet. This is less mean and more...well, wry.
Research Roundup: Heartsease, a couple sets of lyrics, which one's the mortar and which one's the pestle. Yeah, I know I should already know that.
Books in progress: Emma Bull, Territory.
The glamour: Today was one of those days where I never actually woke up, and have just been dreaming all afternoon and evening with the small expedient of having my eyes open. Everything is a little grey and hallucinatory and slow, and I would not in the least be surprised if something totally outside of logic just strolled through the door.
Yah. I don't need to do drugs. We DIY altered states around here, thanks.
I did, at least, still make it out to the market for pierogies and soba (where the woman working at the European deli thought my Threadless Communist Party tee-shirt was the funniest thing ever), and I did finish the book review I was writing for Ideo. And wrote an editorial letter. So the objective world wasn't completely abandoned for the day.
Off to read, then.
"Nothing But Flowers"
Words today: 275.
Words total: 275.
Reason for stopping: I've laid the sod here, and now I would like to go and read.
Darling du Jour: Their apartment is the epitome of bohemian splendor: concrete-and-plank bookcases, dirty coffee mugs, and old copies of alternative weeklies.
Mean Things: I can't even map that yet. This is less mean and more...well, wry.
Research Roundup: Heartsease, a couple sets of lyrics, which one's the mortar and which one's the pestle. Yeah, I know I should already know that.
Books in progress: Emma Bull, Territory.
The glamour: Today was one of those days where I never actually woke up, and have just been dreaming all afternoon and evening with the small expedient of having my eyes open. Everything is a little grey and hallucinatory and slow, and I would not in the least be surprised if something totally outside of logic just strolled through the door.
Yah. I don't need to do drugs. We DIY altered states around here, thanks.
I did, at least, still make it out to the market for pierogies and soba (where the woman working at the European deli thought my Threadless Communist Party tee-shirt was the funniest thing ever), and I did finish the book review I was writing for Ideo. And wrote an editorial letter. So the objective world wasn't completely abandoned for the day.
Off to read, then.
