Monday, August 26, 2002
10:14 a.m. Monday morning (regardless of what Blogger might say to the contrary). I'm not good with "vacations," no matter how much work I've done to "deserve" them. This morning, I already feel guilty because I won't write my thousand-word quota today, even though the frelling book is finished. Well, not finished finished, because I still have to go back and fix a bunch of continuity glitches, add a little here and there, read the whole manuscript for grammar, etc. But it is finished, sensu lato, so I ought to be able to relax and enjoy the "downtime" to be afforded me by the next eight days. But the nagging little voice back o'my mind just keeps whispering, "You know, you could be working right now." But all work and no play makes Cait a dull frellnik. I have to be at the airport at four and have a zillion (give or take a billion) things to do before then. Last night, having inflicted some degree of cleanliness upon my apartment, I read Lovecraft's "The Hound" as my sleep aid. That one always leads to interesting dreams. Last night it was a sort of endless blending of The Sopranos and The Addams Family. If I could upload my dreams directly to the iBook, I'd never have to write another word as long as I live.
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