So...yesterday, I wrote 1,201 words on "The Pearl Diver." This story is determined to confound me. It seems to give not a shit what I need it to be. I think my subconscious is asserting itself again, pushing its own agendas. Today I have to try and shove the story more towards what I mean, without breaking it or myself.
I'd rather go to a museum, or the botanical gardens, or lie on the living-room floor and count dust bunnies.
Last night, I cooked a very yummy Thai barbeque chicken with red bell pepper and porta bella mushrooms. Spooky broiled asparagus. I think our cooking has a lot to do with my needing to work harder than before to stay in shape. Back in the old days, say pre-December '02, when, more often than not, I ate fast food and deli stuff, I had a lot less trouble with this getting soft around the middle business.
Anyway, we finally found a DVD rental place that had the first disc of Season Two of Six Feet Under in, so we spent the evening catching up. I wish someone would explain why they took so frelling long to release Season Two to DVD. Afterwards, I watched a documentary on asteroids and comets narrated by William Shatner, and then we went to bed and read Pet Sematary. Tiddley-pom.
This is the sort of entry that will likely net no comments on LJ, as it is so very perfectly representational of the dullness of the life of a professional liar...er, I mean fiction writer.