It's invariably true -- every time I get less than four hours of sleep, I spend the day with random song lyrics jammed into my brain. Above is DMB, who I don't even LIKE that much. Earlier today, it was that "Cuban Pete" song from The Mask.
My name is Cuban Pete, an' I'm the king of the rhumba beat...
Not much is new. Still working three jobs, still trying to write, still trying to live my life. I've become a much more active person over the past few weeks, going out and doing more things than usual -- Tuesday, there was stand-up comedy at the Laugh Factory, and tonight I'm going to see a preview screening of Pirates of the Carribean (PIRATES!) in O.C. Tomorrow there's a matinee of The Italian Job with Das Roomie, possibly dinner with another friend... Lots of fun to be had.
An' I love to chick-chiggy-boom-chick-chiggy-boom-chick-chiggy-boom...
However... I've got about twenty pages of writing due tomorrow to Manager Guy. Totally failed to get anything done last night, and then when DR came home and talked me down from writer suicide, wisely discerning that I was overthinking the story and asking me fun why-are-your-characters-talking-so-goddamn-much questions that made me actually interested in what I was writing. Which was a problem.
So tonight, after PIRATES!, there'll be another late night of writing. Right before my 10 AM job interview! That's swell, the way that worked out.
(The interview is off a call from a recruiter -- I'm not really interested in what she's offering, but it won't kill me to put on a nice pair of shoes and see what's going on.)
However, when it all gets done, there will be a movie and dinner and, if I've been very good, The Animatrix. I got the DVD/CD combo on Monday, and it's sat on my kitchen table since, wrapped in plastic, taunting me.
No Animatrix before first act! the Post-it affixed to the shiny cover reminds me.
That alone should spur me on. But it's hard, this writing business.
Except when it's easy. And that, more than anything else, is the motivation I need.