There are extremely good reasons for this sloth -- laundry and laziness, mostly -- but the most aggravating factor is the fact that I've taken on some freelance data entry work, as well. It's easy and goes pretty fast -- I got about a fourth of the way done last night, while watching an old episode of MI-5 and Daily Show, but it's Yet Another Thing.
This weekend is full of Things. Tomorrow, I'm going to try and fit in five hours of writing, an hour or two of shopping, a shower, dinner with Das Roomie, and a friend's play. Sunday, I want to go to the gym, a used bookstore in North Hollywood, Goodwill (to drop off some old clothes), a book club meeting, and a USC networking thing -- before coming home, taking a bath, and PACKING.
As a result, I keep telling myself that I can't go out tonight. No going out for me. Nuh-uh. I'm even thinking about skipping tonight's gym expedition, so that I've got plenty of energy for my nice long evening of working.
Part of me really loves going to the gym on Friday nights, though. It simply adores it. So I may do that. A tentative plan is forming in my mind, where I go to the gym, come home and shower, bum around in pajamas while working on the data entry and watching TV, then go out to my favorite late-night coffee shop and work on the screenplay. Last year, I spent many Friday and Saturday nights eschewing a social life and writing writing writing at Insomnia. I'd call my friends who were out having a life, and ask them trivial questions pertaining to my writing. Like, "What would an aspiring English major be reading for fun right before bed?" Or "What's a good name for a guy wearing a trucker hat?" That sort of thing.
And who knows? If I finish the screenplay tonight (which is actually possible), I can call one of my friends who is out having a life, and ask if there is alcohol where s/he is.
Because if I finish the screenplay tonight, I will most certainly deserve a drink.