The Most

"Probably," Bugs agreed genially. "I am good. I mean, I am really good! I mean, I am The Most!"
--Gordon Korman, Who Is Bugs Potter?"


I have a migraine. The managers aren't here for the whole day. So, I'm catching up on my filing.

Somewhere in the middle of last week, I forgot that I was, in fact, The Rocking Thing (TRT to my friends). I almost turned back into my mild-mannered alter-ego. Not that there's anything wrong with my mild-mannered alter-ego. I quite like her. It's just that she's singularly underequipped for dealing with November.

So, I am once more donning the mantle of TRT. I have a novel to finish, projects to work on, and friends to see.

In the words of t!, I am going to get up and kill. Just watch me.

Procrastination is an art form

Yes, I don't feel like doing my filing, so I'm posting instead. In my defense, I got about half of the filing done. That's a lot of filing. More filing to do soon.

I'm in an odd mood. I want some form of human company, probably because the office is deserted and I have time to think, but I'm in a mood that would make interaction difficult at best. Even reading LJ is making me want to snarl at some people. People at whom I don't usually snarl.

Tomorrow is my first band practice since the gig. At least, the first practice at the space. I'm terrified that I've lost all my ability to hit anything with any kind of rhythm. Plus, I hear the bass drum is torn, which makes me sad. I assume replacing the skin is feasible. I'm also going to look into how much a new snare costs. I'm nowhere near having that kind of money right now, but hey, a girl can hope, right?

Okay. I have used up the time I allotted myself for procrastination. To work!

:::wanders off to beat up the filing with a large stick:::

On a completely random note...

Part of me wants a ferret.

The part of me that's wholly impractical, that doesn't take into account the fact that I live in a 3 1/2 with four cats. I suspect it's the bit I inherited from my mother, the part that convinced her that fostering a baby ostrich might be a good idea.

I think it's because I've been writing about Flash Gordon (the name of the psychic ferret) a fair bit in my novel of late.

Oh well. It's a nice fantasy.

Scheduling woes

Who knew that having friends would turn out to be this stressful?

I know no one's doing it on purpose, but it feels like every time someone announces a special event, it's on a day when I've had stuff planned since at least two weeks before the new announcement, if not more.

Stuff that, yes, is less important than my friends, but is also something to which I've committed and would otherwise enjoy, if not for the fact that Friend X has announced their special event on that day.

So then I have to wriggle out of my first committment, and feel guilty about it, or send my regrets to Friend X, and feel guilty about that.

This has happened four times in the past ten days. I'm starting to feel as though the universe has it in for me lately.