I only managed only 789 words on "The Pearl Diver" yesterday, though I was at the keyboard for more than five hours. That averages out to just about 157.8 words an hour. The total word count stands at 4,996, which really isn't bad for five days work. That's almost a thousand words a day. If I could make myself sit here today and tomorrow, I'd be done by tommorow evening, I'm fairly certain. But I don't know if I can. Momentum is sorely lacking. Will power is low. I could get dressed and go somewhere. It is an option.
Guilt is my strongest emotion.
Last night, because someone else had rented disc two of Season Two of Six Feet Under, we watched The Restaurant on Bravo (no, I have no excuse) and then the "John Quixote" episode of Farscape. Then I caught The Maltese Falcon, and then we watched Midnight Lace. I'm watching way too much television, I suppose. It's probably "bad" for me. But since I don't smoke, drink only occassionally, have pretty much stopped doing things with drugs that I shouldn't, have once again renounced most refined sugar, brush my teeth twice a day, floss, and have started exercising again, I forgive myself one vice, even if it's a lame vice.
Midnight Lace got me to wondering what ever happened to Doris Day. So Spooky checked the IMDb for me. Turns out, her last film was With Six You Get Eggroll in 1968 (I was four; she was forty-four). That was her last film. I don't know why she stopped. I hope it was for reasons I'd admire, like she had enough money, had proved her worth to her self, and went away to have a Good Life free of the spotlight. Now she's eighty. Wow.