It is hot in this room.
This night I've been alternating between two compulsions--playing Morrowind and reading Alan Moore's Watchmen.
It's an insideous combo I've stumbled on . . . I play Morrowind for about an hour until I begin to feel feverish and frustrated. Then I switch over to Watchmen, which is breaking my heart, and I go back to Morrowind to sort of get out and get it off my chest.
Anyway. Don't think that this evening's Morrowind revelries are indicitive of a loss of self-control. I'm happy to say my little rule is holding up and I've gotten an extraordinary amount of writing done this past week. I know I've got quantity, and I feel like I've got quality, but I'm of course not sure how objective I am on that latter note.
I finally managed to see Marty on Friday . . . we swapped books and videos . . . That morning I also discovered a strange but attractive young woman in the garage giving a professional looking haircut to a strange man. It's Sunday now and I still don't know the story behind that . . .
I'm incredibally tired for this time of night so I think I'll go to bed now . . .
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