Fridays always suck. It’s my big deadline day at day job, which was “enhanced” by the fact that I had to go to the annual holiday party tonight. I’m not really a party guy, so it was a bit of a drag. I got out early and headed back to my neighborhood. It’s good to be home.
So, now it’s time to fuck off for a bit. I’m sifting through two books right now — Generation Kill by Evan Wright and Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. The former is for the nightstand, the latter for the bathroom. It works.
In between, I’m going through Vanity Fair and the New Yorker, depending on my mood. I usually devour VF first because it’s more fun, even though NYer is weekly and I have a full month for VF. Fuck it. Most of my non-bedroom/non-bathroom time is spent in the salt mines, these days.
The work never ends. I busted out a strategic plan for a friend of mine, though I’m blowing off the rest of my heavy writing labor until tomorrow morning. I just don’t feel like working tonight. That’s what Saturday mornings are for.
There is some good news in all this bullshit. I am a step closer to covering travel again. The next step is to take care of some contracts and make me as official as I can be made. I have a few really cool ideas already — and a many more that are only slightly interesting. I can’t wait to start writing again.